Worth a Thousand Words
by Lazy Tobi
Summary: Elizabeth is a photographer. Darcy is a man who used to be a model and got dragged back in by his friend. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and their story can be told in snapshots of days.
1. Picture of You

**Disclaimer**: I am not zombie!Jane, so I don't own P&P. :C

**- Pictures of You -**

Elizabeth Bennet held her tongue between her teeth, eyebrows knitting together in concentration as she straddled a particularly thick tree branch that could take her weight. She was surrounded by picturesque countryside, but what had caught her interest was not the rolling hills of impeccably green grass or the frontline of trees erect like soldiers at the ends those fields. No, what had caught Elizabeth's eye was a minute detail, one that she was determined to get a picture of.

Resting above her head was the remnants of a bird's nest, a perfect example of a season past while surrounded by the bright green leaves dappled with the summer sun. The nest drooped in some places, trickling twigs that used to be so meticulously kept, giving Elizabeth a beautiful view of the inside of it. Little and big feathers alike were caught between tightly strung twigs, and there was even a few specs of light blue that Elizabeth assumed were little bits of egg shell from when the baby birds had hatched in early spring.

Elizabeth snapped a few shots with her brand new Nicon camera, it being the first of two categories. It was the first professional camera she'd owned (not used, actually _owned_), and it was also the first camera she'd been able to buy with her own money. She'd bought it as soon as her internship with the Lucas Shooting Company had ended in late spring, and ever since she'd first obtained it, the camera had become her baby. It was a rare day indeed when it wasn't either hanging from Elizabeth's neck or tucked safely into her well-worn backpack that she took everywhere.

"Lizzie, how long are you going to be up there?" A male voice called, startling Elizabeth; she'd completely forgotten about her family being present.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Elizabeth sighed, mentally bidding farewell to the bird nest. She made sure her camera strap was secure around her neck before jumping down, landing neatly on her feet next to her uncle and aunt.

"We don't mind you taking pictures, Sweetie, but we do have a schedule to keep. The tour starts in just a few minutes; we're going to be late!" Elizabeth's aunt, Maida, clicked her tongue disapprovingly. She and her husband, Eadred, started back along the dirt path Elizabeth had abandoned in pursuit of a picture. It wasn't a very wide path; it actually probably hadn't changed since the days in which it was first made. The trio had seen a truck filled with produce slowly drive by through the middle of the path, and it took up a fair portion of the road. Eadred hazarded that it was just wide enough for the carriages to get through with two-way traffic. Hanging loftily over the path to create a canopy, providing shade and a beautiful dappling effect of the sunlight, were majestic trees that were decades old. To the left, after a couple of rows of trees, the land sloped downward to a great pond where Elizabeth guessed fish lived. She could barely make out the white of a gazebo on the other side of the expanse of water. To their right, again after just a few rows of trees, the land changed; this time a wooden fence kept grazing cows and horses in a pasture of rolling emerald grass.

"Where are we, again? I forget with all these old houses… mansions, really." Elizabeth laughed, rolling her eyes. She knew Maida had been joking when she'd said they would be late since they had come thirty minutes early fully knowing Elizabeth couldn't resist taking a picture when she saw something "perfect."

"Which one is this one, Dear? Pemberley, isn't it?" Maida looked to Eadred. While her uncle tapped his chin in contemplation, Elizabeth froze for a millisecond. _Pemberley_?!

"Yes, this one is Pemberley. It's the only one with a farm still running, and seeing the house just confirmed it. You can't mistake Pemberley for anything else." Eadred laughed, pointing to the house just coming into view as they took a turn, following the side of the pond. The house was really something else, sitting quite royally atop a small hill overlooking the water. It was made of stones that were probably first a pristine white but were now a worn myriad of gray speckled with the vibrant green of vine growth here and there. Pemberley stood four stories high, maybe five or six if there was an attic and basement, with windows all decorated with draping of different hues that most likely went with the color scheme of the room within. The front doors looked to be of heavy oak with fanciful carvings on it, and the steps leading up to it boasted elegant hand railings on each side of the same shade with similar markings. The driveway up to the door was a wide, large circle originally meant for carriages with numerous horses to show off levels of wealth; now, it held a few trucks and just a simple wagon loaded with tools with only one horse hooked up to it.

Even in her now hesitant state, Elizabeth couldn't help but take a few shots of the house in fascinated awe. Her aunt and uncle had gotten a few yards ahead of her by the time she was satisfied, so Elizabeth had to run to catch up to them.

"I'm so glad y'all insisted on walking up." Elizabeth breathed, appreciative of the entire splendor she was able to digest by walking instead of just glimpsing had she been in a car. Eadred and Maida smiled first at each other, then at their niece, eyes twinkling. Knowing Elizabeth as they did, Maida and Eadred had insisted on parking their minivan in to little town just outside of the beginning of the road they were walking on so they could walk up to Pemberley.

"You're very welcome, Lizzie." Maida said, pinching Elizabeth's cheek even though the young woman was far past the age at which was normal for such a move. Elizabeth playfully swatted away her aunt's hand, adjusting her wire-framed spectacles sliding down her nose. In what seemed like no time at all, the trio was amidst the hustle and bustle of groundskeepers moving tools and such.

An old woman greeted them at the base of the steps to the front door, introducing herself as Mrs. Reynolds. Elizabeth stood meekly behind her uncle, wondering if Mrs. Reynolds would recognize her name when Eadred told Mrs. Reynolds the names their party. She peeked around her uncle's side, drinking in the sight of the woman who had reared the man of Elizabeth's best dreams and worst nightmares. Mrs. Reynolds looked every bit her age of mid-sixties, but she didn't act it. Despite her salt-and-pepper hair pulled up tightly and the stern wrinkles running across her face, Mrs. Reynolds exuded an air of youthful spirit.

Mrs. Reynolds started the tour when the other family arrived in their little car. Elizabeth stayed near the back of the group, trying not to catch Mrs. Reynolds' eye too much in fear of being called out. It was, after all, quite awkward if a woman her aunt and uncle presumed she'd never met before asked, "Aren't you the girl who broke my boy's heart into a million pieces?" … Or something like that. Elizabeth figured, based off of what she knew of Darcy, that Mrs. Reynolds might be as blunt as he was. Although that could be just his quirk since he abhorred lying of any kind…

Lost in thought, Elizabeth's mind only registered something good. She jerked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes; she'd seen something, she knew it. Taking a glance to the tour group slowly leaving her behind, Elizabeth slipped silently away, ignoring her guilty conscious. She silently slid up to the door that was open a crack, gazing inside. The room had a high ceiling with a chandelier befitting of the grandeur beneath it. The walls were stark white with gold trimmings, and the flooring was a rich, creamy tile. The room was decorated not with period pieces of furniture but instruments of every kind, ranging from a maple guitar to an ebony grand piano with a bright red bow on top of it. In front of the piano was what Elizabeth had seen; it really was a picture-perfect scene.

Unconsciously, Elizabeth lifted her camera from hanging listlessly around her neck to her eye, zooming in on the faces. The girl who looked to be around seventeen or eighteen was really quite stunning; even though her face wasn't fully matured, it was already a beautiful heart-shape with delicate golden curls dancing as a frame for it. Her skin was impeccable, and it had just the hint of a glowing tan. Elizabeth could see a familiar outline on the girl's visage; she recognized the full lips, the arching brow, the long, regal nose… Elizabeth's face flushed as she moved her attention from the gorgeous girl to the man she was hugging. Even though it wasn't exactly the best word to describe him as a whole, Darcy had a beautiful face. He cut a striking figure, but it was his face that Elizabeth had always been enamored with.

From a rocky puberty bloomed a gorgeous rose. Darcy's jaw was strongly cut, giving his face a magnificent look in both his profile and portrait angles; it seemed perpetually softened by stubble or the shadow of stubble, though, that stemmed from his long sideburns. His lips were full, the same delicate rose color of the young girl's, hiding perfectly straight, white teeth. Just above his warm lips was his recognizable nose; it was large but not overly so. It was slightly crooked from a brutal fistfight the world didn't know of nor would ever find out about. Set at the sides of the top his nose were Darcy's beautiful stormy gray eyes framed by long, thick eyelashes that many women would be envious of. Elizabeth could remember how his eyes had looked, almost like clouds before a storm, and how desperately she wanted a close-up frame of them. Above his eyes set his heavy, thick eyebrows that always gave away what he was really thinking. Drooping onto his forehead and ticking the tops of his ears was Darcy's signature thick carpet of ebony curls, though currently they gleamed with sweat. Elizabeth's fingers itched to run through his locks to see if they were really as soft as they looked, sweaty or not.

Elizabeth snapped one picture, but that was all it took. Even with the flash off and no click to give it away, Darcy had perceived the presence of a camera. Through her camera, zoomed in on his face, Elizabeth witnessed Darcy's eyebrows slanting in a vexed fashion over his eyes before they rose up in shock.

Like any sane person, Elizabeth fled. Instead of rejoining the tour, she took off through the front doors, dashing down the steps dangerously two at a time; she nearly ran into a worker. Her heart was beating treacherously fast, resulting in Elizabeth panting even though she hadn't run very far. She'd bolted down the drive to the cover of the trees, pressing her back firmly into the rough bark of one as she slid down it to the crisp grass amongst its roots. Elizabeth could hardly process what had just happened.

She'd ogled Darcy, for one.

The silly thought made a giggle bubble in Elizabeth's stomach, bursting forth from her lips when she couldn't hold it down. She'd finally ogled Darcy! It was hilarious for some reason – probably the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Back when she'd first met him, her friend, Charlotte Lucas was stunned that Elizabeth hadn't ogled him. Elizabeth remembered the day like it was just the day before although it had been about ten months…

- (Ten Months Earlier) -

"So, those English models are arriving today… My dad wants both of us to take pictures. Jane has the clothes… um, Bingley is Levi's model while Darcy is Armani's." Charlotte Lucas, the senior photographer of the unit and also Elizabeth's best friend since childhood, said. Elizabeth raised a skeptical eyebrow, snatching the papers Charlotte was reading. Having just entered the modeling world – just for a short internship of taking pictures, Elizabeth always pressed - she had no idea who anyone but the current "hottest" models were. She knew Bingley (Charles Bingley III, 23, blue-eyed and strawberry blond, 6'1" and 160 pounds - twin sister Caroline was also a model), but the second one eluded her.

"It does say 'Darcy'… who the heck is this guy? I've never heard of him, and _Armani_ wants him?" Elizabeth questioned, going over to Charlotte's filing cabinet to find his file. Pouring over the names listed in the cabinet, she soon found out that Darcy's was not there.

"He wouldn't be in there. His file would be… here." Charlotte laughed, going over to her desk and pulling out a small stack of papers from one of the top drawers. She'd had to dig through her father's files before she found anything on the mystery model. Charlotte waited in baited silence when Elizabeth took the file, holding back her laughter.

"The heck?! Armani wants… _this_ guy?" Elizabeth asked loudly, surprised; Charlotte couldn't contain her laughter after that.

"This is the guy _Armani_ wants? He's a pencil, and not even in the model way! I don't want to photoshop him either, but… is he even old enough to need a suit other than for weddings or funerals?" Elizabeth went on, looking at the picture with a keen eye. The kid had good hair, but that was about all he had going for him. There were several pictures of the Darcy boy, a close up of his face, a shot of him in some Ralph Lauren shirts, and a shot of him in a Ralph Lauren bathing suit as well. The close-up of his face revealed bad acne (maybe he didn't have such good hair after all?), wire braces, and a nose too large for his face that was too square for his twig-like neck. His hair was far too long, drooping in beautiful curls over his gray eyes (hey, there was a second redeeming factor for him); Elizabeth couldn't even see his forehead or eyebrows behind his thick locks. In the Ralph Lauren shirt shot, it was a full body, and one could clearly see his body was far too big for him and that he was still going through puberty. His acne had been wiped clean with the help of a computer, and his unruly hair had been slicked back with gel to reveal his dark, heavy eyebrows and his forehead. Darcy's smile, with the braces "magically" gone, seemed awkward at best.

"Seriously, who would want this guy?" Elizabeth muttered, eyes resting on the swimsuit shot. The boy was pasty white and deathly skinny; every single one of his ribs peeked out from his slender chest. The drawstring for the swim shorts, quite a bright turquoise and cerulean in contrast to his skin, seemed to be drawn the tightest it would go, but they still hung precariously on his jutting hipbones. If Elizabeth squinted, she could discern the contrast of the boy's skin and the photoshop done to his torso, stemming from the swim shorts and ending halfway to his nonexistent pectoral muscles; he must have been scared of a razor.

"Well, guess who his auntie is? Catherine de Bourgh. Poor thing was modeling from his eighth birthday until his sixteenth." Charlotte clucked when Elizabeth had calmed down, pointing to the dates on the papers beneath the pictures Elizabeth had been scrutinizing.

"Those pictures were when he was sixteen, some of his last shoots. It's been thirteen years since he's been behind a camera for modeling. Auntie needs more money or something, I guess…" Charlotte explained.

"So, he's twenty-nine? Let's hope he hasn't turned out to be an über nerd… I really hate photoshop." Elizabeth sighed, mentally preparing herself to do "little" touch-ups to an ance-scarred, big-nosed, greasy-haired chump that only got in the business because his aunt had been a big time model back in the day. Charlotte, who had turned to Google the moment she noticed the dates, knew Elizabeth was in for a shock. Darcy had matured beautifully, and his job working in architecture and farming had helped his skin-and-bones problem wonderfully.

"Bingley and Darcy should be arriving soon… be prepared for Bingley's twin, too. She seems to have missed that they're not Siamese twins conjoined at the hip." Charlotte joked. She'd worked with the Bingley twins before (more specifically, just Charles with Caroline hanging around), and she could easily remember how big of a spoilt brat Caroline was and how nice Charles had been. Elizabeth didn't notice Charlotte go abnormally still, eyes widening, as she snorted.

"So we've got Bingley, his nosy sister, and an über nerd Pixie Stick who I'm going to have to photoshop 'cause Auntie Catherine needs a little grease for her palms… yippie." She said dryly, looking up when the sniggering she expected never came. From Charlotte's facial expression, she knew one of the three she had just named (made fun of, more like it) was right behind her.

"I'm sure you realize my aunt would strangle anyone who got grease on her palms? She's picky about those sort of things." The voice was rich and deep, definitely masculine. Elizabeth wouldn't match it to Bingley's appearance, and since the man had said "my aunt," she could only assume it was the Darcy fellow. Turning around with a pinched expression, half rueful and half not, Elizabeth was stunned. With a ghost of a five o'clock shadow and his curls slicked back, not unlike the old Ralph Lauren picture she'd just been criticizing, Darcy was the picture of an elegant, Armani-worthy model even if he was in tattered blue jeans, boots, and a flannel button-up shirt. The first thing Elizabeth noticed, after just how _tall_ the man was, was his nose; unlike in his past photographs, his nose was now crooked.

"Yes, I'd expect she would be. You, Darcy, are entirely too tall to model. Why does Armani want you over seasoned, known models? No offense, of course." The words spilled forth form Elizabeth's lips before she'd even realized it; inwardly, she flinched. Models were often times very temperamental, and the rich… well, they were a class all to themselves, too, from what she'd experienced.

"Of course." The smile that spread almost painfully across Darcy's lips didn't reach his eyes.

"I know I am; it's how I got out of it before. Charles, it seems, doesn't like wearing penguin suits and somehow convinced Armani I'd be a better fit than he." Darcy replied, ears burning when he noticed her sizing him up. Elizabeth, too preoccupied with assessing Darcy's body type, didn't notice his blush. His old pictures boasted of a boy too awkward for his long, broad body, but now he'd fully grown into his own skin. Darcy's chest, once sunken and bony, was filled out with strong muscles, and his middle was no longer rail thin but now a thick bundle of corded flesh. Peeking out from beneath his shirt collar, of which the top two buttons were undone, were a few curly black hairs that presented a slight problem if he was unwilling to shave. Moving from his torso to his arms, Elizabeth could tell he was outside quite a bit from the tanned skin of his revealed forearms contrasting beautifully with the silver of his watch.

"Charles is wrong. You'd definitely be a better fit for the Levi ad than he is. Do you think you two could maybe switch?" Elizabeth looked up to Darcy's face, nearly starting at the intensity of his eyes set beneath sturdy eyebrows that were tilted irritably over them.

"Liz, I don't think that's prudent. Armani wants Darcy, and Levi hired Charles." Charlotte spoke up softly, placing a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder.

"I'd never fit into clothes meant for Charles, anyways. Every part of me is bigger than him." Darcy shook his head, tapping out a rhythm on his thighs, only slightly hindered by the fact his hands were in his pockets.

"I was just supposed to let you know I — we are here. Mr. Lucas said he wanted a Miss Elizabeth and a Miss Charlotte to get ready for Charles' shoot." He cleared his throat, uneasily walking away. Once she was sure Darcy was out of earshot, Charlotte gave a low whistle.

"Daaa-yummm. I'd Googled him, but Darcy is definitely better in person." She giggled, fanning her face, a blush blooming on her cheeks.

"He is very photogenic. I'm sure he'd look very dashing in a tux, but I think he'd fill out the Levis better." Elizabeth commented, not catching that Charlotte wasn't talking about work anymore.

"Definitely. He almost looks better walking way." Charlotte bit her lip, unable to keep a huge grin from forming on her face.

"Yeah, that's the angle I'd take for a few shots, too." Already, Elizabeth was making a series of photographs in her mind starring Darcy clad in Levis and the flannel shirt he was currently wearing. It would look so fantastic, if she could only get Levi to want him…

"Angle? Shots? Liz, honey, I meant Darcy is one hunk of man flesh. He's sex on legs; he's got a good bum. I wasn't talking about a photo shoot. Forget work for a second and just think of how gorgeous Darcy is!" Charlotte laughed, giving Elizabeth a poke to her very sensitive, ticklish side. Jumping away, Elizabeth flushed out of irritation, shoving a few flyaway hairs out of her face and adjusting her glasses on her nose.

"Get your camera, Char. We have work, _not ogling_, to do." She snapped, grabbing her camera from the desk next to the old, scattered photographs of Darcy. Her fingers grazed his bare, skinny chest from the bathing suit shot, dragging the photograph a few centimeters closer to her. Elizabeth never noticed it falling off the desk, fluttering to the floor with his awkward, smiling face pointed in her direction.

It was almost two weeks later when Mr. Lucas, Charlotte's father, received a commission from Levi requesting Darcy to model their jeans. Since she'd orchestrated the deal (and because he was intimidated by the man in question), Mr. Lucas told Elizabeth she'd been the one calling Darcy. Unaware that he had gone back to England once his Armani shoot was done, Elizabeth called him with only slight trepidation. Curled up in an office chair, twirling an unsharpened pencil in her left hand, she was entirely unprepared when he answered the phone on the seventh ring.

"'Lo?" Darcy's voice held a warm burr, and his voice seemed to purr out of the receiver. Elizabeth dropped the pencil in surprise, an unconscious blush rushing to her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, you must be busy, this is a bad time, I—" She scrambled for a reason to get off the phone, assuming she'd just interrupted Darcy in an intimate moment with his girlfriend from the tone of his voice.

"No, 's… who is this?" Darcy's purr turned into a tired groan followed by a quiet click, like he'd just yawned and closed his mouth again. Elizabeth's mortification grew in her confused state.

"It's, um, it's Elizabeth Bennet – from Lucas Shooting – and I'll just hang up now if you'd like." She said meekly, not expecting the scratchy, rumbling laughter that followed her hurried words. Elizabeth hadn't seen Darcy actually genuinely smile, and she wasn't entirely sure he was able to from his holier-than-thou attitude.

"Miss 'Lizabeth Bennet, huh… give me a second to wake up… it's midnight, you realize."

She could barley process that he was teasing her.

"Yes of course, I'm so—wait, what? Midnight? It's only seven…" Elizabeth trailed off, remembering Darcy's charming accent. Right before he spoke the words himself, she realized he must have flown back to England.

"Yes, maybe where you are… I live in Derbyshire, _England_, remember? There are different time zones, Miss Elizabeth." He was still chuckling, and Elizabeth could hear noises, like a headboard creaking in protest to the weight leaning against it and the soft grunt coming from Darcy as he stretched, in the background. From his past cold, distant behavior, Elizabeth wondered if he'd hate her for waking him up when he had obviously been sleeping very deeply.

"I'm sorry, Darcy, I didn't know you'd gone back." Elizabeth replied stiffly, not enjoying his words. Coming from Darcy, his light teasing seemed hurtful, as if he truly believed she was dense enough not to know about the different time zones, rather than fun. She picked up the pencil she'd dropped, resuming in twirling it about her slim digits.

"No, no, it's fine. What can I do for you, Miss Elizabeth? Surely no request for me has come?" The burr was still in his voice, caught in his throat like a bug in a web. Elizabeth tried to ignore it, thinking back to how Darcy never really spoke. Although he didn't cause trouble like Bingley siblings (Charles didn't have the heart to tell his sister to leave, so Elizabeth credited him with at least half of the blame) and did what he was told, Darcy remained aloof throughout his whole shoot. Unless he was spoken to first or was asking something work-related, he didn't breath a word. If he wasn't doing something, one could find Darcy skulking around the walls and corners, alone; it was like he didn't want anything to do with anyone except Charles. Elizabeth had even heard Caroline complaining to Darcy at how the "simpletons" at Lucas Shooting were; he neither agreed or disagreed, so Elizabeth took it as a, "I agree, but I can clearly see one of those 'simpletons' right there in plain sight that can obviously hear you."

"Yes, actually. Levi wants you for a shoot." Elizabeth replied quietly, staring at the pencil betwixt her fingers. She twirled it clockwise, watching the silver bit by the eraser reflect light back into her eyes from the window. Spinning in the chair, Elizabeth realized she probably looked like a troubled girlfriend calling her boyfriend, and with the knowledge that Darcy was in his bed (with _that voice_) in some state of undress, it wouldn't look too far off if someone could see the both of them, like in the movies. Her cheeks colored unconsciously.

"Hnnm… am I allowed to say no? I'd rather not see my arse plastered across wherever Levi puts their ads. Didn't they just do one with Charles?" With his conversational tone, Darcy wasn't helping Elizabeth's wild imagination. If she just woke him up at midnight, wasn't he supposed to be ugly, short, and cross with her?

"It's a trial shoot. Charles, like I said, was a bit slim for their tastes. Can you just think it over? I can give you the number to our offices, and you can call us back later when you're not half asleep."

"I hadn't the slightest idea they did that. Yes, yes I remember that… 'better fit,' right? How about you call me again tomorrow – at a decent hour for England, if you'd be ever so kind – because I'm not going to go find a pen and paper when my bed is terribly warm and comfortable. It'd be murder to move." Darcy's voice was smooth, charming… and infuriating. The words 'how about no' were on the tip of Elizabeth's tongue, but she held back her snarky comment for another time. She had, after all, called him in the middle of the night.

"Only if you stop making fun of me, Darcy."

"Deal." His parting chuckle haunted Elizabeth until he finally arrived, back in the Lucas Shooting building, apathetic and misanthropic as usual. It was the complete opposite of how he'd been over the phone, but Elizabeth had expected it of Darcy. It's a truth universally acknowledged that one will make silly comments and act loopy when half asleep.

Darcy had been surprised, Elizabeth noticed, when he saw Charles still hanging around the Lucas Shooting building. Charles had been a regular interloper, coming when he could, after meeting Elizabeth's sister, Jane, as she was delivering Elizabeth's lunch to her the day after Darcy had left. It was pretty clear Charles was taken with Jane, even if one only glimpsed a few seconds of them together. It was on one of these visits that, during his break, Darcy talked with Charles and Elizabeth eavesdropped on them.

"Darce, bro, why aren't you talking to anyone but me? I heard you're being a wallflower again. Why don't you talk to some of the pretty girls?" Charles' voice was naturally loud, and it carried to where Elizabeth was standing at the refreshment table sipping on a cup of water. Her interest was piqued since it was Charles speaking about 'pretty girls' when she thought him to be interested in Jane.

"You know how I get. Also, you monopolize the only pretty girl's attention when she comes around. Her name is Jane, isn't it?" Darcy replied with a heavy sigh, like he couldn't be bothered. Elizabeth bit her lip, rolling her eyes; of course Darcy would think only Jane was pretty. The man was blind – Charlotte and her sister, Maria, were plenty pretty! And the other girls, like Mary King for instance, were also quite dashing!

"Yes, Jane is quite a ravishing angel. I think I'll ask her out next time we meet up. I'd do it over a text or call, since I _do_ have her number and _do_ chat with her like that, but I'd rather make a better, more sincere impression. Anyways, Liz is pretty gorgeous, too – and she's your photographer. You're spending plenty of time with her… why not give Liz a chance? Jane told me she's only doing this internship to put some experience on her resumes. She's not a model-y girl." Charles laughed merrily, slapping Darcy's shoulder. When next to his friend, Elizabeth compared, Charles looked even more cheerful. She did a mental fist pump for Jane upon hearing his intentions, and unconsciously held her breath for Darcy's reply. It wasn't like she wanted him to try and be more forward with her; Elizabeth was just curious as to what his answer would be. That's what she told herself, anyways.

"Elizabeth? Charles, she's cute, _maybe_, but too young and childish for my tastes. She's so small; I'm afraid, if I were to impossibly follow your advice, she'd look more like my little sister than Georgiana does." Darcy snorted, moving a hand to cover his mouth as he rubbed his jaw. Elizabeth's bright blue eyes bore into his face with defiance, watching his hand move up past his lips to rub at his crooked nose.

"Pish posh, Darce. You are Gina are almost like twins. And the height difference between you two would be adorable – you know, like one of those old time-y things!" Charles retaliated, giving Darcy's arm a punch. Darcy looked away from his friend then, and his eyes locked onto Elizabeth's. She turned her gaze quickly away, knowing how guilty she appeared in doing so, but she didn't care. The nerve of Darcy – her, just _maybe_ cute? He didn't even know her!

"Look, Charles, here's your angel. Stop wasting your time with me and go ask her out, you wanker." Elizabeth heard Darcy say when she walked away to greet her sister, who'd just arrived.

- (Crappy Break Line) -

Elizabeth gulped in air, not able to calm herself. Once her laughter had subsided, cold terror coursed through her veins. She could hear him coming, hear his voice calling her name… Still, Elizabeth curled into a tighter ball, hoping he'd give up the chase. However, knowing what she did of Darcy, she knew that wish was futile.

Gosh, what a mess she was in. After her first, shoddy meeting with Darcy, Elizabeth had judged him harshly, not opening up her eyes to what was actually going on around her. She'd put up blinkers to block out the truth desperately trying to reach her because of her prejudice. It didn't help that that stupid ass hat Wickham spread lies she was too happy to eat up, too…

- (Nine Months Earlier) -

"You're a smart girl, Liz. How'd you get stuck doing a job like this?"

George Wickham was a breath of fresh air. He was a small-time model, only wanted by the likes of Gap currently, but he was definitely handsome. On top of that, he seemed to have a disposition like Charles Bingley, only less flighty.

Behind the lens of the camera, Elizabeth assessed George with an artists' eye for detail. He had a nice, masculine jaw that made a fairly good profile, and his hair was perfect the way he spiked it up. George claimed the dirty blond with platinum highlights was natural, but Elizabeth severely doubted it (but that didn't hinder how superb it looked on him). George was tall and had a nice build with washboard abs; he looked to be the perfect, all-American boyfriend, although his eyes were brown instead of blue.

"You're a handsome guy, George. How'd you get stuck doing menial shoots like this?" Elizabeth shot his words back at him, blushing slightly. He was good-looking, charming, smart, funny… what more could a girl ask for?

"Well, I could tell you… over dinner, perhaps? It's not a pretty tale, and there's too many people around." George replied, winking just as Elizabeth clicked the button to take a picture. It was her favorite yet since he looked the most natural.

"Over dinner would be great, George." Elizabeth smiled. The rest of the day passed in a blur to her until she left with George to walk to the Italian restaurant down the street from the Lucas Shooting building. Only after they had been seated, ordered, and given their meals did George give in to Elizabeth's pestering.

"Well, there's this guy, y'see, that I know. Well, I wouldn't say know… not anymore, at least. Our dads were great buddies, and so when I met him when I entered uni, I thought we'd get along. Both our dads had died by then, and I thought maybe there'd be someone that understood what I went through – was going through, y'know? It turns out Darcy was just a prick." George started out, not meeting Elizabeth's expectant gaze as he twirled noodles from his dinner around his fork.

"Darcy? As in William Darcy?" Elizabeth sputtered, almost doing a spit-take with her soda. Surely the world couldn't be that small, could it?

"Yeah, you know him?" George's voice became pinched then, and his shoulders tensed.

"Not really, no. He's been pretty boorish and proud, actually." Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, wondering why George had reacted as he had. Even though it was more suspicious when his shoulders fell with a sigh of relief, Elizabeth wasn't bothered. She was like a bloodhound hot on the trail and would not be deterred or sidetracked.

"Yep, you got that right. Apparently, his dad – Mr. Darcy – had left me some cash in his will. My family – I wasn't well off, y'see… My ma left when I was little, so it was just me and my dad making ends meet. So, being good friends with my dad, Mr. Darcy decided to leave me a scholarship of sorts for when I went to college. I dunno why – I guess I rubbed him the wrong way with my poor ass self – but Will found a way to keep me from that money. Modeling has been my first constant job instead of bouncing around from place to place. I'm thinking about enlisting in the army pretty soon, actually, so I can get an education – a higher form of education, I mean." George sighed, wearing a "what can you do" face as he leaned back in his chair.

"How was he able to do that?" Elizabeth cocked her head to the side, befuddled. Surely, if George had wanted to get his money, he could have pressed charges. His story didn't quite add up.

"Easily. He knew the passwords into the accounts, and I didn't – and still don't – have enough cash for a lawyer - any lawyer, good or bad. I haven't got enough for that extravagance. I'm also not going to go public 'cause of the bond our fathers had… to respect their memories." George explained, preventing Elizabeth from inquiring further by sticking his fork into his mouth. Once he was done chewing, he moved the subject onto Elizabeth, and she let him under the impression that the previous one had been too irritating and painful for him.

- (Crappy Break Line) -

Elizabeth closed her eyes, resting her head back onto the tree trunk. What a mess indeed. That story about Darcy spread like wildfire within the next few days afterwards, and any requests for him were pushed away. No one at Lucas Shooting wanted him around; they even went so far as to limit Charles' access to the building because, after all, they were friends.

Elizabeth felt sick to her stomach rehashing all of the bad memories. If she took away the poison of her prejudice, they could be nice; however, it was nearly impossible since all of her encounters with Darcy had ended up sour in the end… because of her. Well, except when Darcy confessed to her – that one was definitely _at least_ half his fault. You just don't ask someone out like that!

- (Four Months Earlier) -

Elizabeth felt ill, staring out of the cottage window at the ocean. She'd tolerated Darcy at best whenever he popped up in her life ever since hearing George's story, but now she knew she couldn't do that anymore. No, not since his cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, confided in her how he "wasn't" a bad guy. Apparently, Darcy had _saved_ Charles from getting too serious with an unattached girl!

"Charles fancies himself in love a _lot_, and since Darce thought the girl looked too apathetic, he warned Charles off. Charles is always running to Darce for advice. Darce is almost like Charles' keeper!" Richard had laughed. Elizabeth had excused herself from Richard's company quickly after that, escaping to the cottage she and Charlotte shared. They were only there because Catherine de Bourgh had wanted to meet the photographers of Darcy's recent modeling shoots, and the only free time Elizabeth and Charlotte had was over spring break. Elizabeth had thought she'd be able to relax since Catherine de Bourgh lived on the California beachfront, but, no. Darcy just _had_ to be around with his obnoxious, albeit funny and charming, cousin. On top of that, she and Charlotte had apparently done a lackluster job on picturing Darcy's "true essence," whatever that meant. Catherine had flown the girls out to California just to berate them then push this weaselly little man, William Collins, onto them to "tutor" them. He was insufferable and lacked imagination in Elizabeth's opinion.

Crossing her arms over her chest to stop from punching the nearest thing next to her, Elizabeth was hit by cold lightning when she saw Darcy hurrying up the beach to the cottage. She was half tempted to ignore him when he knocked on the front door, but it _was_ his aunt's cottage. He could have her and Charlotte out with a snap of his fingers.

When Elizabeth opened the door to him, he was portraying a side of him she'd never seen too much before; up until their most recent meetings, he'd always been confident, if not arrogant, in the way he held himself. As of late, he'd shown off nervous habits, some minute that Elizabeth knew she could have missed before, some extremely obvious. Darcy gave Elizabeth a tight smile, running a hand through his thick curls; this act was what probably kept him hair perpetually tousled. His other hand had his thumb curled through his belt loop, long fingers extended into his shorts pocket; they seemed to be twitching, or at least constantly moving, from the way the fabric breathed.

"Richard said you didn't feel well. I thought, perhaps, you might want company." He crossed the threshold, and Elizabeth let him close the door behind him. Shrugging, Elizabeth led him into the living room in the back of the cottage, curling up into a ball in one of the poufy armchairs facing the floor-to-ceiling window and screen doors that let anyone in the den watch the ocean. Darcy tried sitting on the couch, but his jingling foot annoyed Elizabeth to the point where she glared at his leg. If he had been wearing anything but those black flip-flops, she wouldn't have heard anything; however, the bottom half kept slapping the hardwood floor erratically. Quickly noticing her vexed gaze, Darcy stood up abruptly, going over to the screen door connected to the wall-window and slid it open, going out onto the porch to lean over the railing on the back porch. At first, Darcy's back was to Elizabeth, and she didn't quite mind him so much. When he turned around to face her, everything changed.

"I, er… Elizabeth… would you like to go out with—go out to dinner with me? Alone? As in, on a date? I'm not—I mean, I like you, most ardently." Darcy started out. Elizabeth wished she had a camera on her to take a snapshot of him, not entirely paying attention to his words. He looked quite dreamy, artistically speaking, leaning on his elbows against the railing with the ocean and stormy sky behind him, a stark contrast to his lightly colored clothes and the white-sanded beach. A rough breeze pushed his curls this way and that way across his face and scalp, and one of his hands was constantly shoving his wayward bangs out of his clear gray eyes or rubbing his stubble-shadowed jaw, muffling his words. Clad in khaki shorts, a white button-up shirt with a cream sweater pulled over it, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Darcy looked like the classic rich man on his private beach. Like him, the image was pompously beautiful.

"You—I know you're not out of school yet, and it'd look awfully awkward with our age difference. On top of that, we live in two different countries and come from two different social spheres. I know for a fact Aunt Catherine would despise it if I started to date you. It—we, as a couple, would probably appear improper. To anyone. Then there's the matter of your family… I'm sure your mother would make our dating seem like an engagement, and, quite frankly, that wouldn't happen in years, _if _it ever did. You're not the normal type of girl – young woman I'd go after; however, I can't stop thinking of you. It's maddening. _You're_ maddening. You have a curious case of never being able to hold your tongue, pursue what you want and nothing else, and are irrevocably stubborn.

"You seem to be always in the opinion that you are always right, as well. I assume these traits come from your gossiping mother, but that's inconsequential. Your other sisters seem quite… terrifying, really. You and Jane are the only decent people from your immediate family." Darcy gave a small, self-satisfied smile complete with set, expecting eyes.

Elizabeth had wished he'd finished the way he'd started, stumbling for words, but she supposed then his revolting confession would last even longer for her to suffer through. No, this self-confidence that came from nowhere was preferable to a bumbling fool. She chewed on her lip for a moment, sucking her top one between her teeth, not noticing the way Darcy stiffened, watching her lips acutely.

"I'm sorry, you seem to be under the impression that I _like_ you, Darcy. If I ever led you to think I did, well, _my bad_; it wasn't my intention to be 'maddening,' as you so delicately put it. Dear me, you seem to have worked yourself into a nice hole, haven't you? Let me tell you straight and be brutally honest like you just were: _No_. I will _not_ date you, not in a million years. In fact, I'd never even _think_ of it in a trillion years. Despite your, ahem, _romantic_ confession, I do believe there are some wonderful points in your… speech, for the lack of a better word, that can help you get over me. In fact, Caroline Bingley would be more than willing to help you, if you'd ask." Elizabeth sneered, almost falling to the temptation to sticking her tongue out at him petulantly. She had crossed her arms over her chest as she spoke, and her legs, which had been curled to her chest, had gone criss-cross-apple-sauce style to allow her arms room to do so. Her posture, complete with an icy glare, let Darcy know she was being quite serious.

"I… might I inquire as to why you so abhorrently reject me?" Darcy asked coolly, shoving his hands into his pockets once more. Defiantly, he leaned even more onto the railing, legs splayed apart in a classic posture of a man wanting to exude dominance in a challenge. It was an unconscious act on his part, but Elizabeth rolled her eyes, scoffing at the typically _male_ action. She stood up, arms still crossed tightly over her chest, walking the few yards out onto the back porch with him. Elizabeth was hit, literally, by the sudden chill of the wind blowing across the ocean and the scents of salt and seaweed it brought with it. Momentarily, she closed her eyes to get caught up in the environment she'd grown to love, enjoying ever millisecond of it before she opened her eyes to a hostile-looking Darcy still awaiting an answer.

"You, Darcy, are the most arrogant, selfish, pompous, prideful, full of himself _jerk_ I've ever met. Essentially from the first moment I met you, I knew you were a boorish brute of a man. You think yourself above everyone else, don't you? Beside my own interactions with you, I have what you've done to other people, too!" In her tirade, Elizabeth had stiffly walked between Darcy's legs to poke him, _hard_, in the chest at every syllable she spoke; it felt good to dish out some scathing sentences to Darcy; however, her fingertip was complaining within just a few words. Her other hand had gone from her side to rest firmly on her hip. Surprising her, Darcy took her wrist, the one connected to her smarting finger, in his hand, holding it resolutely away from his chest with a concerned look.

"You could hurt yourself, you know." He said simply, like he forgot they were in the middle of an argument. When Darcy started to raise her hand to his face, Elizabeth jerked back but was unable to free her wrist because Darcy strengthening his grip on her. Elizabeth scowled, attempting to pull her wrist free, but Darcy took her other wrist into his free hand, holding on tightly. It didn't hurt her physically, but Elizabeth felt it as a blow to her pride.

"Am I really such a bad person in your eyes, Elizabeth?" Darcy questioned softly; Elizabeth almost didn't hear him. His visage, half covered by the wind pushing his hair in his face left and right, looked pained. It was a complete turn-around from his previous expression, so it stunned Elizabeth for a second. He actually looked _hurt_.

"Don't you dare pretend to care, Darcy, when I know all you think and worry about is yourself. Your so-called 'confession' cemented that in without a doubt. I know what you've done to George and separated Jane and Charlie, so don't you dare try to play the pathetic victim card. _Don't you_ _dare_." Elizabeth scornfully replied, tugging once more on her arms. Darcy's eyebrows lowered over his eyes, and his fingers tightened around her wrists.

"George? _George bloody Wickham_?" He all but snarled the name, grip still growing tighter. It was becoming unbearable, and Elizabeth's jerks became more frequent and panicked. She bit back any noises of pain, but her face contorted as he continued to hurt her. Darcy let go of Elizabeth as if he was burned when he saw her expression, straightening himself to get some space between them. He stalked away from Elizabeth, fists forming at his sides, the skin over his knuckles becoming pearly white; she watched him disdainfully, rubbing at her wrists and hoping they wouldn't bruise.

"Please, _enlighten_ me of what I've done to George bloody Wickham, Elizabeth. Teach me something." Darcy growled when he had calmed somewhat, stiff back still to Elizabeth. He seemed more like a wild beast than a man, and he was starting to frighten Elizabeth. It wasn't Darcy's physical strength that scared her but his raw emotions. Someone who had wronged another couldn't possibly be that outraged by that person's name, and Elizabeth knew Darcy was a horrible actor. She felt cold as the thought, which she forcibly pushed from her mind, that she could be wrong about him toyed with her. For some reason, Elizabeth didn't want to be wrong about Darcy. Perhaps it was because she wouldn't have a reason to reject him, otherwise. He was decent enough when he wasn't being taciturn, and Elizabeth couldn't deny he was handsome.

"You kept his college money from him, and now he hasn't been able to find a good source of income because he doesn't have anything but a high school degree." Elizabeth's voice was strong when she spoke, but internally she was faltering. Everything within her was shattering with the influence of this new option, like Devil's Snare in sunlight. Her stomach was doing summersaults (not in the good way but in "the school principal wants to see you" way), and the sea breeze was biting into her skin harshly with every passing second. On top of all this, Elizabeth did _not_ want to be proven wrong, especially _not_ by Darcy. Bottling up her tumult of emotions, Elizabeth presented Darcy with an air of cool defiance spiked with loathing.

"Oh yes, how I have wronged him. I can see the error of my ways now, thank you _so_ much. I have been _such_ a prat, so let me start apologizing on my knees now." Darcy sneered, voice filled with more emotion (sarcasm) than Elizabeth had once thought he was capable of. With his back to her, Elizabeth missed his troubled expression that didn't match with his voice, the expression that would reveal how sickened he was. Darcy wasn't disgusted with Elizabeth, no, just himself and George Wickham. How could he have misread Elizabeth so much? How could he have given her such an offending impression of himself that she'd believe George Wickham's mendacity?

"Yes, you _have_ been! What are you going to say about breaking Charlie and Jane up, huh? Is Jane too poor for Charlie, is that it? Is it because you hate our family – whom you've _never_ met, I might add, and only have one _asinine_ phone call you _eavesdropped_ on to form an impression of them – that you couldn't stand your friend simply dating my sister? They were _dating_, you ass hat, not getting engaged or anything permanent! Who are you to judge if Jane was 'unattached' or not? I'd never seen her happier, but you fucking ruined that with your ego that's the size of the – the - the always-growing universe! We don't live in the age – 1800s or so, I'd guess – where that kind of status _shit_ matters!" Elizabeth lashed out, rightfully so. This was the only subject she had solid footing on since it had come from the horse's mouth (almost… second-hand from the horse's mouth, anyways) and not some stranger she had gone on a few dates with (and who had eventually left her waiting on him for a few hours before texting her, "Sry bby, g2g, c u around – mor fish i al dat"). Frustrated tears formed in her eyes out of ire, and they nearly escaped in shock when Darcy whirled around, one finger pointing accusingly at Elizabeth's chest.

"You blinkered little – I…" He began and suddenly stopped, panting heavily as if he'd run miles. Elizabeth could see how wide his eyes were, how flushed he was becoming, and was unsure of what was about to happen. She certainly didn't expect Darcy to deflate like a balloon, quickly loosing all the hot air he'd been about to spit out. His taut shoulders drooped, and his hand wilted, uncurled and limp from its previous pointing position, by his side. An ironic smile twisted its way onto his handsome visage, and it was the first time Elizabeth saw that his mouth conveyed the same message his eyes did. She watched nervously as he looked up to the dark, cloudy sky, sighing through his nostrils. Darcy's face was gentle when he looked down at her again, bearing a simple smile that made him utterly beautiful is a melancholy way.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth, for interrupting your day. I hope you feel better soon. Please don't stay out here for much longer – the forecast called for thunderstorms, and the sky is agreeing with it for once. Good-bye, Elizabeth."

Darcy looked positively depressed as he slouched (yes, slouched! The man who always had impeccable posture _slouched_!) away. Elizabeth wanted to scream at how unnervingly calm he'd become, to shout at him to come back and finish what he'd started, but instead she crumpled down to the ground in pure disbelief. How could he just… what… why… He liked her, "_most ardently_?" Hugging herself, Elizabeth struggled to her buckling legs to stumble back into the cottage and scream into one of the throw pillows on the couch. It still smelled faintly of Darcy from his brief contact with it, Elizabeth noted dully. She spent the rest of the time until Charlotte came back cradling the pillow to her chest, close to tears but unwilling to let them fall. Elizabeth was still in her utterly dumbfounded state when Charlotte found her gazing out at the rain that had finally started falling not too long after Elizabeth had finished screaming into the pillow. Charlotte chalked up Elizabeth's uncharacteristically mute and stiff behavior to her actually being ill and sent her friend straight to bed after making Elizabeth take some cold medicine.

The morning after, Elizabeth put on a brave face for Charlotte, still trying to digest what had exactly happened the day before. After breakfast, Elizabeth decided to take a jaunt along the beach, walking just close enough to the water that the tide washed over her feet. Sometimes she had to walk over seaweed, and it felt crunchy and uncomfortable under her sensitive bare feet. Elizabeth, watching the land, water, and algae pass beneath her, never noticed Darcy until the crown of her head bumped into his torso and her eyes saw his bare feet centimeters in front of her own. Although her initial reaction was to apologize, maybe blush, and run away, she defiantly looked up at Darcy to try to tell him through her expression alone that he should get lost before she broke his family jewels. Elizabeth immediately regretted it, though, when she saw how haggard Darcy looked. He looked a bit pale, his eyes were sunken, red, and had bags beneath them, and he seemed older than he really was. Elizabeth retracted her malicious expression, turning her head to face the sea; she only did so knowing she was the cause of his appearance.

"Sorry, Darcy, I didn't see you." Elizabeth spoke quietly, only remorseful that he appeared as he did, not because she'd bumped into him. Even then she felt torn about her emotions because she knew she had been right to attack him like she had.

"It's quite all right. Please, promise me you'll read this?" His voice cracked, and Darcy cleared his throat by coughing awkwardly. Elizabeth returned her gaze to him, searching his rueful face for reasons she knew not before taking the proffered envelope. Elizabeth was very tempted to retort, "Promises are for children, aren't they? Isn't that a bit too _childish_ for you?" However, seeing his countenance, she figured he'd suffered enough for one twenty-four hour period.

"I promise." She swore, and for a second, Elizabeth was scared Darcy was going to lean down and kiss her. His head had started to edge lower, but he stopped himself, running his now-empty hand through his hair.

"Thank you, I… thank you. Good bye, Elizabeth." Darcy murmured, awkwardly shuffling his way down the beach. Elizabeth watched him leave, mind screaming, "Look back. Look back at me!" He didn't, however, even glance once back over his shoulder.

- (Crappy Break Line) -

Elizabeth removed her backpack from her shoulder. It was a well-worn messenger bag, not too big or too small; it carried the faded messages written in Sharpie from her sisters, Charlotte, and reminders to herself. Clearly, the bag had seen better days, but she never left it at home, clinging tightly to the memories literally woven into it (like when she got her mother to teach her how to sew so she could patch up the hole that had formed on it – _that_ had been an adventure). Elizabeth opened the top flap, gazing at one of the small front pockets where Darcy's letter currently resided. The letter now resembled her beloved bag; it was dog-eared and the margins were filled with her scribbled comments. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth listened for signs of Darcy following her outside; all she could hear was what she assumed was normal for Pemberley (birds and other animals talking to each other, workers joking, things like that). She was disappointed and relieved that she couldn't hear Darcy.

When she took the letter out of her bag, Elizabeth didn't notice Darcy silently coming up to the tree she was huddled below. He would have spoken up if he didn't notice what she held between her fingers: his letter. Darcy swallowed harshly, ears burning as he remembered the night he'd written that stupid letter.

- (Four Months Earlier) -

Darcy was steaming, positively fuming when he returned to his aunt's main cottage. He was so incensed that he was actually rude to Catherine when she asked where he'd gone. Poor Anne, his timid, meek cousin, almost got caught in the crossfire when she stepped into the hall. Darcy had never seen her so scared, and it infuriated him even more.

After dispensing with his aunt, Darcy had gone to his room (slamming the door behind him immaturely) and started pacing. He had to figure out a way to remove the blindfold Elizabeth had tied securely around her eyes; he just _had_ to. He almost got physically ill thinking of what George Wickham could have done to her. Darcy _knew_ he should have gotten that bastard when George was in his grasp.

But Georgiana would have been mortified. Like he should be now, thinking about what he'd just done. Darcy moaned, his anger dissipating once again, as he fell onto the bed in his room. He was spread-eagle over the comforter, arms and legs hanging off the edges.

What could he do? Elizabeth would never listen to him. Darcy didn't have her phone number, email, or address, so he couldn't call, text, or send her a message. He was all out of options, unless… unless he was able to see her again before she and Charlotte left in the afternoon. But how should he go about it? Darcy rolled his eyes at himself, heaving his body into a sitting position. First, he would most likely need something to write with and something to write on. He started rooting through his rarely used briefcase, finding an errant pen that was probably on its last legs and one tattered legal pad in mere seconds.

Darcy returned to the bed, popping himself up on the headboard and resting the legal pad on his thighs. He held the pen tip between his teeth, debating on what to start with.

God, he was a fool.

"_Dear Elizabeth_," Darcy started with, still debating if he should insert a, "Miss," in there as he started writing the first sentence. He knew he had to get her to actually read the darn thing, so the first paragraph ended up being a hurried, rushed, "This is NOT a love letter, please, please, please, _please_ read this" paragraph, only more eloquently put. Once he was done with that, Darcy gave a self-satisfied smile, sure that Elizabeth would continue reading his letter to her.

… Or not. Doubt crawled its way into Darcy's mind; he immediately responded by ripping the sheet of paper off the pad, crumbling it up into a tight ball, and throwing the ball at the wall. Growling to himself, Darcy chewed furiously on the end of the pen, scarring the plastic.

"_Dear Elizabeth_," He began again, continuing on while ignoring the nagging feeling the letter would end up obsolete because she'd never read it, "_This is not a love letter, I assure you, or a repetition of my feelings from last night that so deeply disgusted you. This is merely a letter defending myself against the charges you laid against my door yesterday. I would like you to know what harm could come by George Wickham's hand; plus, I'd also like to tell you that I broke Charles and Jane up for Charles' own good." Although it was shorter, this paragraph was less desperate than the first one he'd written, so Darcy kept on writing._

"_I will start with Charles and Jane since Wickham_," Darcy paused, scowling deeply as he attempted to formulate a decent sentence that didn't include calling Wickham various derogatory names.

"… _is a highly sensitive subject for me. Charles has a penchant for finding a beautiful girl wherever he goes and calling her his 'angel.' I mean no disrespect to Jane when I write this; it's just that Charles fancies himself in love with 'angels' quite a bit. He means no harm, but generally those 'angels' are wolves in sheep's' clothing. I have continually seen Charles burned by his 'angels,' and at first, I didn't know what to make of Jane. She's quiet and genuinely nice, quite a bit different than Charles' past 'angels.' However, she acted no differently with Charles than she did with me or any other man (or person, really) from what I saw. I will not deny that I told Charles I believed her unattached when he inquired for my opinion on if he should start dating her or not. That is, however, where my direct interference ends._" Darcy sighed as he stilled his hand, wondering if Elizabeth would believe him or not. Would his truthful words offend her? Swallowing his reservations, he barreled on with the paragraph.

"_Caroline, Charles' twin, was the one who literally separated them by asking Charles to accompany her to Australia. Since she echoed my words about Jane, Charles readily agreed to go see 'beach babes' (his words, not mine). It was there he realized that, despite his attempts to change his feelings for Jane, they would not reverse or leave him. Charles ahs confided in me that he didn't look twice at a woman unless she resembled Jane, and even then he didn't look a third time since he knew it wasn't her. You may do what you want with this information. I did not separate them on the grounds of a conversation I admit to eavesdropping on. Your mother seemed to think them already engaged and adamant that she had to tell all of Meryton (your home town, I assume) that Jane had a rich husband. Even I could see Jane didn't agree with her sentiments. Then your sisters spoke up, and I believe I'd be terrified to meet them. They seem rambunctious, lively, and loud – none of those qualities in people that I like and dread to find. It's nothing personal and came out of my mouth completely wrong yesterday_." Darcy finished, writing in the past tense when referring to The Confession (it was so horrible it deserved the caps) because he knew he'd be handing it to her the following day. Glancing at the clock sitting merrily on the bedside table, Darcy steeled himself for a long, restless night as it was already close to ten o'clock. It had taken him nearly two hours to write the _easy_ part of his letter.

He stared out the darkened window at the rain he couldn't see, sighing. Darcy was not an overly pessimistic person (which everyone he knew would vehemently disagree with that statement), but he felt positively dreary faced with the prospect of bearing his soul to a young woman who'd stolen his heart and would never reenter his life after this to give it back.

"_You told me I kept Wickham's college money from him, that I am responsible for his current inability to acquire a job with a decent salary. I'm not sure what sob story he told you, but I can assure you it is untrue. He's always been a gifted, charming liar; it is quiet easy to fall under his spell. I'll start in the beginning of our story, if it is apt to call it that._

"_I grew up with Wickham (I'm sure he told you this, but I'll repeat it just in case of the impossible). His father was the landlord of my family's estate, Pemberley, and his mother was our sous-chef (cook? We don't have a chef…). George and I were about the same age (he is three years my senior), so our fathers assumed we'd become fast friends. We met their expectations and then some. Wickham became the brother I'd never had. Then, my sister was born when I was eleven and he was fourteen, and everything from then went downhill._" Darcy had to stop writing then, memories flooding his eyes. He could recall the boy Wickham once was and speculated how everything had changed so fast. He rubbed at his eyes in a tired fashion, chewing on the pen some more before commencing with his letter to Elizabeth.

"_My sister's birth isn't exactly the cause of all that happened, but it is a big event that was the prequel to everything. My mother died in childbirth, and my father was never the same again. I pushed everyone away, including Wickham, so we lost touch within a few months of Georgiana's entrance into the world. Mrs. Reynolds (then my nanny and the head cook/chef, now…well, the same, I suppose, just now she is the head of everything inside the house, form cleaning to tours) was the one in charge of rearing Georgiana, so she enlisted my help in raising Georgiana in hope to aid me in coping. I'm eternally grateful to her for doing that. My father became distant, not unlike I'd become, and so I didn't see Mr. Wickham, Wickham's father, or Wickham again until my father sent me to the all-boy's boarding school Wickham was attending. I was fifteen, Wickham was eighteen, and Georgiana was four._

"_Having not kept correspondence with Wickham, I was surprised to see him at my school. I hadn't known my father was paying for his education. He'd changed for the worse then. Wickham was the school's star football (soccer for you) player, and he was the sister school's heartthrob. This I believed was capable by my innocent childhood friend, and I was happy for him. It wasn't until the second semester of my first year that I caught wind of his not so innocent ways. Wickham was a notorious heartbreaker and a cheater, which I believed was understandable given his current high status in the schools. I didn't commend his behavior; I just understood it. He graduated that year, and he actually did attend college after a year of absence. Wickham had always expressed a desire to backpack around Europe, so my father gave him a credit card and told him to fulfill his dreams. On my father's tab, Wickham spent errantly, and quickly ran up a six-digit bill within six months. I'm not entirely sure what conspired between them, but my father cut Wickham off after that._

"_It was the last I heard of Wickham until his father died almost three years later of a heart-attack when Wickham was twenty-one. Wickham claimed he couldn't attend his own father's funeral, and it left his mother broken-hearted. He was mailed his inheritance at his then-current residence. His mother remarried within a year to a Mr. Garth Younge, on of the farm hands at Pemberley. Because of the quickness of the affair, we all, Wickham included, assumed Mrs. Wickham had been cheating on her husband. Because I wasn't there at Pemberley, Mrs. Reynolds had been getting Mrs. Wickham to help raise Georgiana, and I wasn't entirely comfortable with it but said nothing. My father died of a stroke when I was twenty-three and Georgiana was twelve. With no father or mother and since I was at university, Georgiana's only parental figures were Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Wickham. My doubts about Mrs. Wickham became real just two years ago. This is where I pause in this sordid tale and beg you to keep the rest of the contents of this letter to yourself._" Darcy felt severely ill as the all too fresh scar was being picked at. He almost called Georgiana just to hear her voice, to make sure she was all right, but he didn't because of the late hour. Biting his cheek, Darcy resumed writing.

"_Georgiana was just sixteen, and Wickham was thirty. If you can remember yourself at sixteen, just imagine having the attention of a handsome, older man saying he loved you. Place yourself in her shoes as I continue, please. Or don't. It's painful, and I don't want to hurt you. I was not aware of their relationship because Georgiana hid it from me. Wickham approached her when she was at school (not boarding, the public one in Lambton), and once they became a 'couple,' he picked her up from school. Georgiana told me she was going out with friends, and I was exultant for her since she shares my inability to make friends. It was the first time she'd ever asked to 'hang out' at someone else's house, so I was extremely glad to give her my consent day after day, thinking her life finally was looking up. It was maybe two months along before I decided to see if I could meet some of Georgiana's 'friends' and their parents, so I called the number Georgiana supplied me with. A very irate, elderly man answered the phone, and within minutes I knew it was a wrong number. I became suspicious then and decided to take a weekend day off of my work around Pemberley to follow Georgiana around when she was supposed to go out with her 'friends.' I'm not proud of what I did, per se, but I am happy I did it._

"_I saw you reading my file when we first met, the file of my stint in the modeling world. That had started out innocently enough because my mother believed I was a cute child, but as soon as she let my Aunt Catherine have reign over what I did, the job went sour. Because of this modeling job, Wickham was jealous of me, but I never knew. When I entered the same boarding school as him, I unknowingly stole his thunder. Again, he was bitter. From the beginning, he'd been envious of my position. I'd never realized any of this until two years ago when he decided to try and take everything I had left from me._

"_I followed my sister to Wickham's house, unsure of what they were doing together. Because he'd been my childhood friend and wasn't a teenager anymore, I stupidly assumed he'd matured and had become a gentleman. I thought maybe he had a child; maybe he was married and had enlisted Georgiana as a babysitter. Although I did sneak around Wickham's crumbling flat, it was good I did. From my snooping, I finally got to witness what Georgiana had been doing for two months with her 'friends.' In search of the room where Wickham and Georgiana had gone into, I saw a room filled with nude hand-drawn pictures of my sister in provocative positions. The unfinished ones covered the floor, and the complete ones were framed on the walls. It was horrifyingly disgusting; I actually got sick on the side of the house._" Darcy had to scramble to the nearest bathroom then, shoving the pen and legal pad aside, to dry heave into the toilet. The traumatizing images were still unfailingly fresh in his mind. Once his stomach had stopped contracting, Darcy took shaky breaths before he leaned his head under the faucet in the tub. He turned the knob for the cold water, letting it fall and wash away his burning hate. Elizabeth _had_ to know. When he returned to his room, hair damp and cold, Darcy felt dead as he dropped listlessly onto the bed.

"I will finish this letter, and I will give it to Elizabeth." He told himself.

"_From then on, I'm not sure my behavior was commendable. I broke into Wickham's flat, and that caused him to leave whatever room he had been in with my sister. He seemed shocked at first, but then he decided to bait me by asking me if I wanted to see his art gallery full of 'beautiful' Darcy models. I do not regret punching him in the face. Wickham was pretty unhealthy-looking and slim, but I'd never been in a fight before, unlike him. Neither of us noticed Georgiana poking her head around a corner to watch until I slammed him into a wall, holding him up by his shirt. By then, he'd broken my nose and bruised a couple of my ribs; I know I'd dealt more damage to him, but I remain unaware of the full extent even still. Georgiana was, thankfully, fully clothed when she ran at me and started hitting me in the back with her little fists, screeching at me to put her love down. Everything from then went horribly. It only took a check of twenty thousand pounds (about thirty thousand U.S. dollars) for Wickham to promise to leave my baby sister alone. Georgiana told me she hated me that day and that she'd get 'Nan Younge' (what she called Mrs. Wickham) to help her run away as I drove her home. Apparently, Mrs. Wickham had been helping her son with Georgiana's cover story by assuring Mrs. Reynolds that she'd spoken to Georgiana's 'friends' and their 'parents' since she had been the one to pick Georgiana up from school before her son took over that duty. Needless to say, I fired her the second I got home with Georgiana that day (Mr. Younge ended up divorcing her when he found out about what Mrs. Wickham had done)._

"_I didn't press charges against either of the Wickhams because of Georgiana. I had to send her to therapy to convince her neither Wickham loved her, and then she had to continue going to help her get over her mortification. Georgiana still has a once a month appointment with her psychiatrist, just in case her fears come back. We've gotten much, much closer since then, and I'm grateful for the change. I'm grateful Wickham has not been in contact with your own sisters, or else I fear something like this might have happened to you. I'm sorry for putting you through this, Elizabeth, but you had to be told._"

Darcy threw the legal pad into the wall, confused and vexed. Did he _have_ to tell Elizabeth? Could he reveal his little sister's darkest secret to Elizabeth? Did he have the right to? He almost got up to rip the letter to pieces, but he left it alone on the floor. Darcy rolled onto his side, staring out the window. It had stopped raining; he couldn't hear the pitter-patter of the droplets hitting the window anymore. He fell into an exhausted, emotionally drained sleep that resulted in nightmares he couldn't remember upon waking up in a cold sweat a scant few hours later. Not wanting to go back to sleep, Darcy left the bed and showered then, consulting his conscious beneath the scalding water as he cleansed his body.

Maybe it was the right thing to do, telling Elizabeth. Darcy had never told a soul of the story, and it was killing him internally. But was it fair to unload it onto Elizabeth? He felt better after writing the tale now, but he was unsure if he should he should give the unfinished letter to Elizabeth. Ultimately, he decided that she should know of Wickham's character before she went back into his slimy hands, so Darcy left the shower to finish the letter with just a towel on his hips.

"_I will finish this letter with an apology for my poor conduct yesterday. You were underserving of my atrocious words. I hope you are feeling better and wish you the best of luck in life. If you would like to confirm these events, please don't shy away from asking Richard; he knows the story through Georgiana and can corroborate everything, if you wish._

"_Sincerely, Fitzwilliam Darcy_."

- (Crappy Break Line) -

Darcy could see all of Elizabeth's notes on his letter. They all amounted him to being a "big, stupid idiot" and Wickham being a "complete ass hat douche bag."

"Although the statement is a bit redundant, I am a big, stupid idiot." Darcy commented dryly, startling Elizabeth. She jumped and held a hand to her chest, looking up at him with her wide, sparkling blue eyes.

"I—I—how long have you been there?" Elizabeth asked meekly, trying to hide the letter. She had crossed out her original hateful comments quite thoroughly, but she still didn't want Darcy even trying to decipher them.

"Not long, I promise. How… how are things, Elizabeth? May I sit with you?" Darcy pointed at the patch of grass by her right side.

"Oh, um, its your property and all… um, Jane's well. She texted me earlier that Charlie came back on his knees begging for her forgiveness." Elizabeth shrugged, not meeting Darcy's stormy gaze as he sat down next to her. His knee, covered by jeans that were dirtied and frayed, brushed her bare knee. Now that she was next to him, Elizabeth could smell the scent of sweat and horses on Darcy's person.

"Yes… I told him it was wrong of me to convince him to leave Jane and that, well, she might not be as unattached as I'd believed her to be. He was on the next flight back." Darcy gave her a tight, awkward smile.

"Thank you, for that. Jane is… very happy." Elizabeth broke off, stiffening as the tension between them strengthened. A few minutes of silence passed between them before Darcy spoke.

"And how are you? Are you happy, Elizabeth?"

"I'm… honestly not. I want to apologize to you for my scathing words… I mean, you deserved it and all, but… I should have given you more credit than I did with that ass hat. So, I'm sorry. And I accept your apology – apolog_ies_, from the letter, I mean." Elizabeth responded, still not looking at Darcy's face. She scrutinized his body, feeling as if he'd lost some weight, but she wasn't sure. He still looked handsome and healthy, at any rate.

Although Darcy believed Elizabeth had nothing to apologize for, he could see it was important to her from her rueful, embarrassed mien.

"Apology accepted." They lapsed into silence again, some of the tension fading away. Neither wanted to place a name on the strain that remained, both remembering how they'd incorrectly read the other previously.

"I-I'm here with my aunt and uncle… I'm not here to… I can delete that picture, if you want." Elizabeth finally blurted out, blushing profusely. Darcy smiled, shaking his head. He grabbed her chin between his fingers, making her look at his face instead of his boot-clad feet; Elizabeth's eyes unwillingly zoomed in on his lips. They looked dry, and there was a healing cut near the bottom left corner. She wondered if it'd be uncomfortable to feel his stubble on her jaw.

"You can keep the picture if you look at me, Elizabeth. You don't have to be so shy."

Elizabeth barely heard his words. Darcy's ears were burning when he realized why her eyes were slightly south of his, and he dropped his gaze as well just in time to see her suck her upper lip into her mouth uncomfortably. He swallowed hard, wondering if it'd be prudent to try and kiss her. The tension between them had increased tenfold with shocking charge, but it was easily shattered by Elizabeth's phone vibrating and emitting a song Darcy would later learn was called "Tangled Up In Me" by Skye Sweetnam.

"Sorry, it's my aunt… Aunt Maida?" Elizabeth turned her back to Darcy, picking up her phone.

"Um, sorry I left, I, er… I'm just outside the door underneath the trees. I—_what_. You're _where_?" Elizabeth whirled around then, resting one hand on Darcy's knee to peer across the pond. He followed her gaze to see two people waving madly from the gazebo. The blood drained from Elizabeth's cheeks.

"Um, yeah, I see you, Aunt Maida… I'm with Darcy…. Yeah, as in the owner of this, erm, estate… We were _not_! Shut up! I'm hanging up on you!" Elizabeth yelped, the blood returning quickly to her cheeks as she hung up forcibly on her aunt.

"What was that about?" Darcy asked, glad that the ice had finally been broken. Elizabeth looked away, the hand on his knee tightening into a first.

"She, um, thought we were… yeah. And… we weren't." Elizabeth muttered, mortified beyond comprehension. Throwing caution to the wind, Darcy took a deep breath before inquiring, "What if we were?"

Elizabeth jerked her head to look at Darcy then. His eyes were downcast, locked onto her fist on his knee. Darcy took it up in both of his, gently prying her fingers from her palm and rubbing the pad of his thumb along her knuckles.

"Elizabeth, I still feel the way I did four months ago, though perhaps more ardently… if… if your feelings have changed, I… I'd like to ask you out. Properly, without al the bullocks attached." Darcy said, only looking up from Elizabeth's fingers at the end of his little confession, giving a rakish half-smile. Elizabeth was unaware that her heart was beating just as quickly as Darcy's was.

"I'd like that, very much." Elizabeth almost stammered, unable to fully appreciate the stunning grin Darcy gave her before he leaned forward and pressed it to her own, much smaller one. Elizabeth's earlier thought was answered as she realized that hi stubble didn't feel that uncomfortable at all; in fact, she could easily get used to it.

**A/N**: _-hides from F.I. readers- So, yeah, this one-shot has been plaguing me for forever. I get random bouts of inspiration for it and finally finished it like a year-ish after first conceiving it. I know that I didn't accurately portray the modeling world and all… but I'm too lazy to look it up. o-o" Yeah, well… thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed it. :)_

Edit: I kinda just realized I'd forgotten then disclaimer… so I just added that and italicized the letter part (because I was told it was a bit difficult to understand that part). :)

_~ Tobi_


	2. Pictures of Me

**Disclaimer**: I own a single copy of P&P that I bought from a gigantic three-story Barnes and Noble…

**- Pictures of Me -**

Fitzwilliam Darcy was not a many of many words. He didn't need to speak, though, since his expressions usually betrayed how he felt. After returning from America for the second time, it was quite obvious to his long-time employees that he was distraught. He was positively forlorn as he helped around the grounds, physically exerting himself more than usual (which was another sign they had seen develop over the years of watching him grow up). Those two tells were nothing compared to the last one.

The third and final sign that tipped the older employees off was that Darcy kept hitting his head on the doorframes around Pemberley. Some of the main house had been renovated to match with the growing heights of its residents, since the original heights had been quite low for modern standards, and some of it couldn't be changed since the house was centuries old. There were other buildings, too, like the barns and such, with low doorframes that also couldn't be refurbished. Each and every employee working at Pemberley, new or old, knew where the shorter frames were; it was a natural action for the ones that had spent more than a year on the Pemberley grounds to duck when the need arose. They believed it impossible to forget where those small doorframes were, but with Darcy slamming his forehead into them every day, sometimes bumping into the low frames multiple times within an hour, they had living proof it wasn't.

It was on such an occasion that Georgiana came home to. Darcy had been notified that his sister had came home for the weekend while he was working with a particularly difficult horse, and he practically flew away as he left the animal to be cared for by another man. Instead of tracking dirt and hay into the main part of the house, which would get him a scolding from Mrs. Reynolds, his housekeeper and nanny (for a lack of a better word), Darcy used what had once been the servant entrance and corridor to get to his sister. He only avoided the last short doorframe before he reached Georgiana, and his forehead was red and smarting when he finally arrived.

"Gina!"

"Wills!"

Darcy enveloped his sister in a bone-crushing hug, tucking her head beneath his chin protectively. Georgiana giggled in delight when he started twirling about, still locked to her brother's sweaty chest by his iron grip.

"Wills, you're sweaty and smelly. Let me go! Please!" She laughed when she felt she might start gagging. Darcy gave her a final squeeze and a noogie before he let her out of his arms.

"How was the drive from London? All right?" He inquired, drinking in the sight of his baby sister. Georgiana was breathing life back into her brother already, but she didn't know how mopey he'd been since she lived in her own flat away from Pemberley. Like any rebellious teenager, she'd found him too overbearing, and she'd fled the nest when she had turned eighteen. Almost a year later, she missed home (and her brother), but not enough to return to Darcy's slightly oppressive care.

"Perfectly good. I hit some traffic, but it wasn't too bad. Nan Renny told me you have an early birthday present for me?" Georgiana grinned brightly at Darcy, dimples shadowing her cheeks. Instead of answering her question, Darcy pinched one of her cheeks like he always did, holding on longer than she thought necessary. He relented when she swatted at his hand and laughed at him for being so nostalgic and "parent-y."

"Yes, I did. We'll have to be quiet since there's going to be a tour soon – or maybe now? I don't know the time." Darcy said teasingly, grabbing one of Georgiana's hands and covering her eyes with his second hand.

"Wills! You're such a dork!" Georgiana sniggered, following the hot hand tugging her forward.

"I told you we need to be quiet, Gina! Shush!" Momentarily, Darcy was struck with a mental image of leading another woman, like he was with Georgiana, to a surprise. His smile faded, and his head hung a bit. Darcy's sweaty curls fell low over his eyes, much like a dog's ears flattened onto its skull when it was sad, and he almost sighed when he pulled Georgiana into the music room. He steeled himself into a smile (_she'd_ think it was a sneer) before releasing Georgiana from his clutches next to her early birthday gift. It was a slightly customized grand piano since Darcy had replaced some of the original woodwork, like the legs, with his own creations. He had had a hard time keeping Georgiana in the dark when the piano first arrived since she'd been living in Pemberley main house then, but he was glad Mrs. Reynolds and the rest of the helpers in the main house had aided him in keeping Georgiana in the dark. The deceit was worth the expression on her face.

"Oh my God, Fitzwilliam! You didn't! You _didn't_!" Georgiana all but shrieked having forgotten her warning to be quiet. She cooed as she inspected the piano from all angles, gasping in awe when she fingered the carvings her brother had done. Darcy felt his chest swell with pride as his baby sister marveled her early present, dragging her fingers across the smooth surfaces as she walked in circles around it. He could see the tears forming in her eyes and fully expected her to throw herself at him; Darcy wasn't disappointed when Georgiana, essentially, tackled him into a hug.

"Oh, Wills, thank you, thank you, _thank you_!" Georgiana whispered into his chest, using all of her strength to hold her brother to her. Darcy returned the hug, smiling contentedly; he only hoped his sisters' visit would get him over what never was (what never had a chance to even _begin_, if he thought about it).

Having grown up in the limelight (and recently been back in it, somewhat), Darcy had a second sense when it came to cameras. He hated the blasted things and always knew when someone was taking a snapshot of him; the feeling made his skin crawl. It was why the later pictures from his brief stint in the modeling world depicted him with a painful smile. The back of his neck tingled with the familiar haunting itch, and he looked up in ire that some stupid tourist had invaded his privacy while he welcomed them into his home for a tour.

It only took Darcy a second to realize that the "stupid tourist" was none other than _Elizabeth Bennet_. It took her a second longer to turn on her heel and run.

"Elizabeth…" Her named was breathed from his lips, and his heart started pumping blood faster. Conscious of the fact Georgiana knew something had grabbed his attention and could hear his increased heart rate, Darcy mentally debated on telling a lie to her so he could chase Elizabeth.

"The girl Nan Renny talks about? Where?"

Darcy winced, cursing his sister's good hearing.

"She… she's gone. She, uh, just ran away." Darcy stammered, wondering how much Mrs. Reynolds had told Georgiana (and since when had Mrs. Reynolds talked to Georgiana about his non-existent love life starring his unreciprocated love for Elizabeth Bennet? And when had Mrs. Reynolds learned about his non-existent love life starring his unreciprocated love for Elizabeth Bennet?). Darcy could feel his sister pull away from him, and he turned his face from hers to a wall, ears burning.

"You are really bad at acting. Go chase her, you git!" Georgiana commanded, slapping lightly at Darcy's arm. Even more mortified, he gave her a tight smile before he ran out of the room, hunting down the girl of his best dreams and worst nightmares. He'd never thought all those months ago that he could ache for someone as badly as he did for her.

- (Ten Months Earlier) -

"Please, Darce, mate!"

"Charles, I said _no_. Bloody hell, leave me alone."

"But I kind of sort of told them you'd do it already…?"

"_Charles_!"

"Caroline doesn't – and will _NOT_ – know about this, I swear! Look at the bright side, you won't see her for a while!"

The entire conversation was running through Darcy's mind. Charles Bingley was his best friend, and he'd been roped into many things he didn't want to do by the younger man many times over the years. On the list were numerous things he thought couldn't be topped (like treating Charles' twin, Caroline, to dinner once or skinny dipping at a nude beach in France when Darcy was drunk – both events, though many years had lapsed since they had occurred, caused him to shudder every time he thought about them), but this one really took the cake. Not a personable person, Darcy did not enjoy modeling, especially in a restricting tux. But, somehow, here he was, listening to a conversation between two girls (one of them was calling him… an "über nerd Pixie Stick?" What did that even _mean_?) and waiting for a spot to interject. When he finally did enter the room and came face-to-face with the women, he would not own up to anything that conspired in those handful of minutes later when Charles interrogated him (nothing, not from what he said nor the fact he ogled the shorter one's skinny jean clad backside for a second).

"I'm sure you realize my aunt would strangle anyone who got grease on her palms? She's picky about those sort of things." Darcy didn't know the words were even leaving his mouth. He wasn't usually that… snarky; he blamed it on Charles talking him into another thing he didn't want to do. When the young woman (with the bum he wanted to pinch - he was spending way too much time around Charles, Darcy realized) turned to face him, Darcy was astonished by her audacity. She didn't look the least bit ashamed – uncomfortable, maybe, but definitely not rueful – and was looking him up and down! For the first time after a woman had checked him out, Darcy saw a displeased expression on said woman's face. It was adorable the way her nose scrunched up momentarily, nudging her glasses further up her nose; he took note of her surprisingly blue eyes then. Darcy believed he could see flecks of green in them.

"Yes, I'd expect she would be. You, Darcy, are entirely too tall to model. Why does Armani want you over seasoned, known models? No offense, of course."

Dear lord, that woman had a tongue! Did she ever not think before she spoke? He felt repulsed by her daring words. Darcy was fully expecting her to be a woman like his aunt now… tactless, commandeering, and immersed in the modeling world. She didn't look the part, though.

"Of course." He replied, trying to smile through his distaste. It would be just his luck if this woman were to be his photographer; he supposed she would be since fate had already smiled upon him once (Charles had, somehow, kept his twin in the dark about this excursion to America – Darcy thanked whatever higher powers made this possible every time he could).

"I know I am; it's how I got out of it before. Charles, it seems, doesn't like wearing penguin suits and somehow convinced Armani I'd be a better fit than he." He didn't quite realize his words would set her off, but he felt it keenly when the woman sized him up again. Darcy experienced the need to pull his hands from his pockets and place them in front of himself, but instead he countered his impulse with drumming his hands against his thighs nervously. His ears burned as he waited for the young woman to speak again.

"Charles is wrong. You'd definitely be a better fit for the Levi ad than he is. Do you think you two could maybe switch?"

Darcy met her eyes again, feeling like he was backed into a corner. He was starting to feel stifled and intimidated by this tiny, bold woman whose name he didn't even know. It had been a long time since he'd met such a strong personality from a woman; he wasn't quite sure he disliked her yet, though, despite his original thoughts. She was just doing her job (he guessed – if she was a photographer, it _was_ her job to make sure he looked like a good ad for Armani).

"Liz, I don't think that's prudent. Armani wants Darcy, and Levi hired Charles." The other woman spoke up for the first time since Darcy had entered the room, coming up to the shorter one's side. Darcy felt a sigh of relief building up in his chest since this seemed like an opening for him to leave the confines of the small room with the tiny woman who filled it up.

"I'd never fit into clothes meant for Charles, anyways. Every part of me is bigger than him." Darcy added to the second woman's argument, desperately wanting out. He was just supposed to be looking for his and Charles' photographers, not conversing with these two! The innuendo in his words was over Darcy's head, so he didn't know why the second woman turned bright red and choked back what he presumed was a laugh.

"I was just supposed to let you know I — we are here. Mr. Lucas said he wanted a Miss Elizabeth and a Miss Charlotte to get ready for Charles' shoot." Darcy exited the conversation then, leaving the two women to find the photographers. His cheeks turned red, matching his ears, when he heard the second woman say, "Daaa-yummm. I'd Googled him, but Darcy is definitely better in person," just as he was going out of earshot from them.

Charles was surprised when Darcy returned to the shooting room looking exceptionally uncomfortable. He never got to find out what had Darcy riled up, so he let his imagination take over when Darcy's eyes bulged once two women entered the room, announcing themselves as Elizabeth Bennet and Charlotte Lucas. When Charlotte told Charles she'd be working with him, Darcy wasn't sure if he was comforted or not to be working with the tiny woman instead of the one that had Googled him.

"Okay, look, I hate photoshop. It's a lie. It sucks. So, are you scared of a razor? 'Cause I'd rather not use photoshop even if it's just erasing your chest hair." He blinked at Elizabeth's brisk tone. Darcy followed her short, quick strides to where the tuxes he was supposed to model hung on a rolling garment rack.

"Well, are you?" He blinked once again as she turned to face him. Was he what? It took Darcy a minute before he remembered her question; he was too preoccupied by her sudden change in demeanor. He didn't feel the man-eating waves coming off her (that he probably made up in his head, if he was completely honest with himself) anymore.

"I—no, I'm not scared of a razor… I'd rather not use one, is all." Darcy answered her, gazing somewhere over her right shoulder instead of into her puzzling eyes.

"Good. Go shave your face and the top part of your chest around your clavicle. For Armani, you need to be smooth and suave." Elizabeth ordered. Darcy listened and didn't argue. He trailed Elizabeth, carrying one of the suits, as she went to a bathroom and presented him with a disposable razor and shaving cream from one of the cupboards below the sink. He expected her to stay to "make sure he did it right," like all his photographers had in the past, but she didn't. She left him to shave and change all alone after asking if he could get back to the shooting room (like he was an invalid, the little minx).

When he returned to the shooting room, Darcy didn't know what to expect. Elizabeth had already broken all of his stereotypical photographer behavior. He listened to her instructions, following them impeccably but silently, getting more and more confused as the hours passed. Elizabeth _didn't_ manhandle him. She _didn't_ try to touch him inappropriately. She _didn't_ bother him when she said they could take a break. After a few failed attempts to strike a conversation with him (about books, movies, and the weather – _not_ his romantic interests, unlike the others), she stopped entirely. She got _mad_ with him. She almost _yelled_ at him.

Darcy wasn't sure if he was in love with her or not by the end of the first (very productive) day. By the end of the second, he wasn't certain if he was scared of her or not. He barely breathed a word to her, but he got the distinct vibe that she _disliked_ him. Perhaps she was a lesbian? Darcy laughed to himself when the thought crossed his mind. He was being paranoid and ridiculous. Just because he came across a photographer that didn't sexually harass him didn't mean she wasn't a heterosexual.

Because she consumed his thoughts, Darcy found himself staring at Elizabeth Bennet almost all the time. He didn't know what to make of her. She was full of firsts for Darcy.

"You stare at Lizzie an awful lot." Charles needled Darcy on their last day for shooting. They were on their last break of the Levi/Armani shoots. Darcy shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to let Charles in on his dumbfounded thoughts (because Caroline would definitely find out if he did, there was no doubt about it – Darcy knew he wasn't _that_ lucky to be able to escape her twice in a fortnight).

"Do you fancy her?" Charles grinned at Darcy, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"She's very pretty. Lizzie has a nice arse, decent chest… pretty long legs for her height…" Charles egged Darcy on. He knew Darcy's preferences in women, and he also knew that Darcy hadn't had a girlfriend in years (and had never had a serious one).

"She has fine eyes, Charles, and that is all." Darcy felt his ears burn at his outright lie. His eyes followed the curves Charles spoke of, weighing each in his mind; his hands twitched at his sides. Wanting to escape the sudden heat, Darcy left his friend, going over to Elizabeth's side.

"Well, you're done, Darcy. You can leave whenever you want." Elizabeth said simply, nodding at him. Darcy blinked. Had he just been _dismissed_? By a _woman_? By a woman with a _good_ excuse to make him _stay_?

In a stupor, Darcy lounged in a chair as Charlotte took a few last photographs of Charles. He didn't know what to think until, about two weeks later, his phone rang shrilly at 12:09 A.M. At first, Darcy didn't remember what he had been dreaming about, only that he damned his phone for interrupting him. He had a good mind to let whoever was calling him (a prankster, surely, at this hour) go to voicemail, but his inner gentleman chided him. Darcy picked up his cell on the last ring, still not fully awake.

"'Lo?" He answered, hanging half way out of his bed. The air felt cool to his bare arms that had previously been warmly tucked beneath his pillow.

"I'm sorry, you must be busy, this is a bad time, I—"

That voice… it was familiar. Darcy narrowed his eyes, searching his mental Rolodex for the right woman. He couldn't place a face to the voice, though, since he was confused. It couldn't be her… she never sounded so unsure of herself…

"No, 's… who is this?" Darcy yawned after he spoke, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. He was delusional. He just thought it was she because he'd been dreaming about her.

… _What_?

"It's, um, it's Elizabeth Bennet – from Lucas Shooting – and I'll just hang up now if you'd like."

Darcy's realization shocked him to the core. Elizabeth wasn't helping, sounding like she was. Her voice was apologetic, hesitant… _shy_, even. When did this happen? When did that confident little spitfire become intimidated? He tried to laugh it off, ignoring all thoughts that she was being adorable beyond words.

"Miss 'Lizabeth Bennet, huh… give me a second to wake up… it's midnight, you realize." He was dreaming, surely. This _had_ to be a dream. Darcy pinched himself.

"Yes of course, I'm so—wait, what? Midnight? It's only seven…"

Darcy bit his lip, still chuckling. She sounded so confused, so innocent…

"Yes, maybe where you are… I live in Derbyshire, _England_, remember? There are different time zones, Miss Elizabeth." He joshed, feeling comfortable with this new side of Elizabeth. She wasn't in command, he was; he wasn't embarrassed, she was.

"I'm sorry, Darcy, I didn't know you'd gone back."

She sounded on guard now, as if she could read his thoughts. Darcy's mental image of Elizabeth was fighting back for superiority, and he felt even more enamored with her (he didn't know where that thought came from, though).

"No, no, it's fine. What can I do for you, Miss Elizabeth? Surely no request for me has come?" Darcy purred into the phone, curious. Elizabeth had given him the cold shoulder when he'd been in America, but maybe… maybe she was just excellent at playing hard to get.

"Yes, actually. Levi wants you for a shoot."

The hope that had slowly been building up crumbled down into a shattered heap of jeans. Although… It started to build back up. Levi had no idea who he was. To only way they'd know about him was through Elizabeth, who had said she wanted to do a shoot with him in Levis. She was interested, after all (but perhaps just in an artistic way)!

"Hnnm… am I allowed to say no? I'd rather not see my arse plastered across wherever Levi puts their ads. Didn't they just do one with Charles?" Darcy smirked, shaking his head. There was no way he was going to do this shoot, not even for Elizabeth. His aunt was already bothering him again to go back into modeling ("With a face like yours – that horrible nose, dear, can be fixed by a computer or a surgeon – you should be in the modeling world! I haven't the slightest idea why you quit or why I let that hired help woman – Rankles? – talk me out of making you stay!"). Catherine was unbearable most of the time, but she was a force of nature when she had her mind set on something. If Darcy could make her see he was just doing a (HUGE) favor for Charles, she might just leave him alone.

"It's a trial shoot. Charles, like I said, was a bit slim for their tastes. Can you just think it over? I can give you the number to our offices, and you can call us back later when you're not half asleep."

Her voice sounded hesitant again, like she was weighing his words carefully. Darcy could easily envision Elizabeth curled up in a chair, staring out a window while either chewing on a pencil or twisting it in her fingers. He'd noticed that about her. Elizabeth was rarely still, always doing something with her hands; if she ever had a pen or pencil near her, it was not too long before that writing utensil was either between her pursed lips and white teeth or her slender digits. Darcy could even remember the way her other hand, if not busy, tended to curl a lock of hair incessantly around her pointer finger. She really was too adorable.

"I hadn't the slightest idea they did that. Yes, yes I remember that… 'better fit,' right? How about you call me again tomorrow – at a decent hour for England, if you'd be ever so kind – because I'm not going to go find a pen and paper when my bed is terribly warm and comfortable. It'd be murder to move." Darcy couldn't resist teasing her once more. Perhaps this is why she always made fun of him? He smiled at the notion that warmed his insides. Darcy remembered not being too fond of Elizabeth while with Chalres at the Lucas building, but now he couldn't recall _why_. With her voice in his ear, albeit a bit mechanically thanks to the phone, he could recognize the tone his inner monologue had changed to when he was berating himself. Over the course of a few days, he'd been around Pemberley and wondered what she'd think of the property, of the scenery. Surely, it had to be better than what she was used to. Darcy fancied that Elizabeth would enjoy jaunts around the grounds. It was the first time in his memory that, after meeting someone (other than Georgiana), that he was imagining future occurrences around his beloved Pemberley.

"Only if you stop making fun of me, Darcy."

Darcy's smile grew into a full-blown grin, teeth and all. Elizabeth knew he was teasing her! It was a rare day when someone recognized his humor. Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds were the only ones in his acquaintance that always knew when he was being light-hearted; not even Chalres was able to correctly detect it.

"Deal." Darcy chuckled before exchanging farewells with her. After placing his phone on his bedside table once more, he could feel himself smiling at his hands resting on his lap. With his mind's eye reliving past moments with Elizabeth, Darcy felt like an emotional train hit him.

He didn't _like_ Elizabeth, did he? He couldn't! Elizabeth was intimidating. She made fun of him, mocked him. She was rude. She was a photographer. She was from Nowhereville, America (Meryton – where the hell was that?). She didn't have a filter from her brain to the words coming from her very kissable lips. She had no sense of fashion whatsoever and wore whatever the hell she wanted (and criticized his well-kept, meticulously matched style!).

Elizabeth _also_ had a beautiful smile. Her laugh was a breath of fresh air to fill his depleted stock. She put everything into her projects and never gave up. She didn't like telling lies with her photographs. She had impeccable work ethics. She knew when to play and when to work. She enjoyed life. She was not afraid to get her hands dirty. She was not afraid of nature and found it fascinating. Her eyes were gorgeous, absolutely stunning.

Darcy groaned, leaning his head back onto his headboard as he realized meditating on a pair of fine eyes for the duration of his brief jaunt in America had caused him to actually be _attracted_ to the little spitfire that was Elizabeth Bennet. He vowed to himself that he would not allow this dalliance to happen. It would never amount to anything, anyway, so he shouldn't bother with his kindling feelings.

The first thing he said when Elizabeth called him later in the day was, "I'll do it – the trial shooting for Levi." Darcy made a second vow then: to not pay Elizabeth any attention. That way, she wouldn't get ideas and nor would he. He'd be able to stave off the fledgling bouts of attraction, clip its wings, and drop them like yesterday's news. That's what he told himself, anyways.

During the shooting, Darcy stared at Elizabeth even more, unintentionally so. He wanted to prove to himself that he could resist those asinine feelings of a teenage lust for an hourglass figure; he wanted to find more holes in Elizabeth's physique, both mentally and physically. The only problem was that, in trying to repel and find fault in her, Darcy could only see more little things that he adored about Elizabeth and the positive side of what he had first thought of as her negative aspects. He also took note of how Charles had fallen for her sister, Jane, who was her complete opposite (but also completely Charles' type). When Charles broached the subject, Darcy poked further than he normally would to see what he could get out of his friend and found himself spouting lies about Elizabeth. "… cute, _maybe_…?" More like unbearably adorable. Even if Elizabeth was "too young and too childish" for his tastes, his preferences certainly could change if he let them.

Darcy looked away after Charles mentioned the height difference between Darcy and Elizabeth was like the old-fashioned romance tales (which Charles knew Darcy wanted in life - damn that wanker) and saw blue fire. Elizabeth was fuming; he could tell. He'd never seen anything so charming in his life. Darcy could feel an involuntary smile forming on his lips, so he was thankful when Elizabeth turned around with a huff (and a dashing twirl of her unbound curls). He hid his grin from the world behind his palm as his eyes watched her walk grumpily away. Darcy realized then and there was he had already sold himself.

- (Crappy Break Line) -

Leaving the front doors of the main house, Darcy was met by the sight of one of his workers on the ground, a stream of cursing leaving the man's lips.

"Bloody woman has lost her bloomin' mind, runnin' off like that. Bleedin' near crashed into me, she did – didn't even apologize! _Tourists_." The man huffed crossly, picking himself up from the dirt. His name was Alexander Hewitt, and he was one of the only, if not _the_ only, long-term employee of the Pemberley property that called Darcy "Mr. Darcy." Lex dusted off the seat of his pants, still grumbling to himself, before he noticed his employer standing in front of him a few steps up.

"Ah, Mr. Darcy. We'll be done with trimmin' the hedges 'round here soon… then we'll go over to the back gardens." Lex nearly stammered, scratching at his ruddy cheeks in embarrassment for being caught using vulgar language by Darcy. Darcy nodded, having long since given up on getting Lex to call him anything but "Mr. Darcy."

"Thank you, Lex, I'm sure you boys will have this place looking splendid in no time. I am, however, curious as to who the woman you were cursing about is?" Darcy smiled tightly, awkwardly. His employees took it as controlled anger because they knew he didn't like cursing around the main house just in case Georgiana was nearby.

"Oh, uh, I dunno, Mr. Darcy. The girl just flew outta the house like she'd seen a ghost. I don't think she even saw me." Lex replied nervously, shrugging off-handedly.

"She… did you see where she went?" Darcy bit the inside of his cheek, feeling his ears burn when he couldn't meet Lex's eyes. Lex admitted that he didn't, but one of the other workers pointed Darcy towards the trees on the outskirts of the pond. Darcy departed with a word of thanks, calling Elizabeth's name as he neared the wizened protectors. He leaned his palm on the rough bark of one, putting most of his weight on his hand. Darcy couldn't hear anything that would tell him where Elizabeth was (his didn't expect crying, per se, but… well, whether mad or sad, Elizabeth had always been on the vociferous side), so he had to settle for peering around the trees like he had as a young man looking for Georgiana during a game of hide-and-go-seek.

Darcy wasn't surprised when he finally spotted Elizabeth. She was curled up, as was her wont, with her tattered messenger bag by her side. He hadn't been surprised now, but it had been the complete opposite when he'd arrived in California to see her there, laughing, in his aunt's home…

- (Four Months Earlier) -

"Richard, remind me why we're visiting Aunt Catty?" Darcy groaned, leaning his head back into the car seat. He twiddled with the air vents, shooting the chilled air in Richard's direction. Richard was driving them along the road to their aunt's property. On Richard's side of the car, there was beach and ocean; on Darcy's side, there was grass and small pockets of water.

"Stop that. And 'cause she wanted to see you 'bout modeling… I think… I'm pretty sure she's going to try and rope you into it again. I'm only coming for the fireworks." Richard slapped Darcy's hands away from the vents, half amused and half not; it was a curious combination that he did well. Being born with two parents that were star actors, Darcy supposed that it must be easy for Richard to display what he wanted, when he wanted. Darcy had always been a bit envious of his cousin because of that.

"Thanks for the moral support, Rickie." Darcy sneered, turning his wandering hands over to the button that controlled the window. Up, down, up, down went the window at different intervals, letting a warm Californian breeze seep into the car that Richard kept at a low sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. Darcy blamed his nervous jitters on the plane ride; Richard blamed them on Darcy just being Darcy.

"No problem. And stop that! Play with the vents instead, you tosser!" Richard ordered, attempting to slap at Darcy's hand while keeping the car on the road. Needless to say, after he'd driven the car off the road and into the grass, barely stopping in time to stop it from going into one of the pools of water, Richard realized that it was a bad idea to do so.

"God, you're difficult." Richard grumbled, punching Darcy in the arm; he was quite grateful they were the only ones on the small road. Darcy snickered at him the rest of the way to their aunt's group of beachside cottages. When they arrived in the one Catherine lived in, the men were treated to harsh words from their aunt telling them that they were late and had to hurry to become presentable before company arrived.

Shuffling into the rooms they normally resided in when visiting Catherine, Darcy and Richard shared a look that conveyed a whole conversation of interrogating the other if they knew about the "company" coming over. Darcy, after entering his room, stared at himself in a mirror. He looked presentable for whatever company Catherine was expecting, he thought, wearing his nicest pair of denim jeans (that, okay, had holes beginning to form on the knees) and a gray sweater. Darcy was not eager to impress any company Catherine was expecting… or so he'd thought. Just in case Catherine meant his hair, Darcy had left his room after a minute of contemplation, trying to smooth his unruly curls down over his skull; when he saw Richard doing the exact same thing, both men burst into a giggle fit that lasted them to Catherine's living room. It was her favorite room to receive guests in since it showcased the ocean and her generous back porch through two floor-to-ceiling walls of glass. Darcy's laughter caught in his throat when he saw who was coming up the beach, her hair whipping about her face; in fact, he was so stunned, he missed Catherine's smoldering glare for not changing into better clothes.

Not knowing what to do with himself, Darcy just stood by the (unused) baby grand piano in the corner as they waited for the party of three to enter through the back porch. Darcy recognized Charlotte Lucas with Elizabeth, but he didn't know who the third member to their group was. The man was short, pudgy, and looked like he'd lost his marbles; his clothes clashed horribly with each other and his rotund body type. Darcy wasn't sure what the portly man that matched a baby blue fedora, a bright red polo, and yellow plaid shorts was doing on his aunt's property, but what he did know was that he didn't like it when the man had the gall to touch Elizabeth. He appreciated Elizabeth's second-long look of disgust when the man placed his hand on the small of her back as the trio climbed the stairs onto Catherine's back porch. Within seconds, Elizabeth, Charlotte, and the man were in Catherine's reception room where bright blue met slate gray. Darcy felt the familiar, slightly unwanted zing when Elizabeth met his gaze defiantly; he dipped his head in a barely discernable nod in her direction as a greeting.

"Eliza, Charlotte, how are you finding Mr. Collins' tutoring? You may redeem yourselves, if you'd like, here on the beach with a new shoot. Richard can work with Charlotte since Charles couldn't make it." Catherine said without a proper greeting to any of her new guests, barreling right into the thick of her agenda. Darcy rolled his eyes, thinking back to how much he'd warned Charles about visiting Catherine that eventually led to the redhead deciding to go to Luxembourg instead (to do what, Darcy knew not). He smirked when he saw Elizabeth roll her eyes as well; he was pretty sure that Mr. Collins talent in photography matched his abysmal sense of style.

"Oh! Um, yes, Mr. Collins has been very kind to us. He's…"

Darcy tuned Charlotte out, hoping she was making things up as she went just to please Catherine. He shared a silent snigger with Richard as Charlotte droned on and on with praise for Collins, making the little man puff up like a mother bird, a lecherous little leer-smile on his visage. As her friend professed mendacity that pleased the two worst people in the room, Elizabeth wandered over to Darcy's side; he wasn't sure why but it pleased him that she sought out his company. What Darcy didn't know was that Elizabeth had suffered from sexual harassment coming from Collins and just wanted to be as far away from him as she could.

"Tell me that man isn't worth even a quarter of Charlotte's praises." Darcy leaned down to Elizabeth's ear, surprising her; it was written all over her face when she glanced at him.

"He is a talentless, near sighted pig who wants breast and pantie shots." Elizabeth whispered hotly, crossing her arms; she completely missed Darcy's stunned look of concern.

"He hasn't actually—"

"No. I'd kick his tiny, non-existent nuts if it actually happened. He lacks imagination and drive." She grumbled, loosening up some from her defensive position. Darcy smiled, relieved, and chuckled as he envisioned Elizabeth beating Collins to a pulp; his smile turned quite deviously sinister, drawing the attention of the room. Richard and Charlotte were surprised, though for different reasons, and the other three occupants were just confused (again, for dissimilar reasons). Upon seeing five pairs of eyes on him, Darcy's grin fell to his normal stoic expression.

"William, what are you two whispering about? I must know." Catherine narrowed her beady eyes at the pair, trying to come up with a sound reason for Darcy to beam as he had.

"Nothing, Aunt Catherine. Just two friends reminiscing." Darcy covered for them, resisting the smirk that made the corner of his lip twitch. Catherine kept her eyes shrewdly on the pair until Collins drew her attention away by profusely thanking and flattering her.

"Are you trying to intimidate me, Darcy? And I thought you didn't like lying." Elizabeth said as soon as Catherine, Charlotte, and Collins had all turned their attention elsewhere. She didn't see Richard approaching but Darcy did; he held his tongue for a second longer than it should have taken for him to reply, as he had no earthly idea what to say, to give Richard an opening to interrupt.

"Eliza, right? My name is Richard Fitzwilliam, this prat's cousin. I didn't think my cousin here had made any friends when he was doing Charlie-boy that favor." Richard held out his hand, speaking exactly when Darcy knew he would. Darcy swallowed his half-baked reply to Elizabeth's surprisingly hostile question, watching her interact smoothly with his cousin.

"No, please, it's 'Lizzie' – as in Elizabeth Bennet. It's nice to meet you, Richard. He—he didn't, not really." Elizabeth struggled for a decent reply, her cheeks tinged pink. Darcy wondered if she felt the same pull he felt when he was near her that caused him to question what to label their relationship; he hoped she felt the same way and that was the root to her stumbling reply to Richard's innocent query.

"Oooh, do tell, do tell. I love hearing what Darcy here does surrounded by people he doesn't know." Richard cackled, shooting Darcy a look. Darcy had a feeling that Richard and Elizabeth were going to be as thick as thieves if he didn't interfere soon, but he was unsure as to when he should cut in.

"You might be shocked." Elizabeth attempted to evade Richard's question, or so Darcy assumed.

"Me, shocked? About his behavior? Never!" Richard's mirth grew, as did his Cheshire-esque grin.

"Very well. We all had to suffer from a dour lizard sticking to the walls if he wasn't in front of my camera scowling and denying he was doing anything but smiling. And the stares! We'd – all of us workers at Lucas Shooting – be dead by now if looks could kill." Elizabeth grinned at both cousins teasingly. Richard's beam appeared to be identical to hers when he met Darcy's gaze; this time, it was the more reticent cousin that beat the other to the chase.

"'Lizard?' I _was_ smiling, and I was not death glaring at anyone." Darcy interjected before both Elizabeth and Richard could tag-team in teasing him; he could feel his ears growing warm already.

"'Cause you're not a flower, Darcy. I seriously cannot call you something like a 'wall flower' because that just sounds wrong since you're all manly and stuff. I guess you call this smiling?" Elizabeth ended with something that looked, at best, like an awkward display of her teeth for a dentist. Darcy curled his lip at her impersonation while Richard had to bite his knuckles to keep from roaring with laughter. Darcy had, although, enjoyed her calling him "manly;" it made him stick out his chest a tad bit more.

"And this isn't 'death glaring?'" Elizabeth added, scrunching up her face in an exaggeration of Darcy's normal gaze, sticking out her lower jaw in a troll-like fashion.

"I did neither of those things and you know it!" He spat in mock defense; he was still trying to determine if Elizabeth was playing with him or not. Darcy could take playful teasing, and he believed that was the type Elizabeth doled out to him.

"Uh-huh, yeah, suuure you didn't Mr. I-Hate-People." Elizabeth smirked up at Darcy, and she stuck her tongue out at him as soon as she was done speaking. He was very tempted to just lean down and…

"Oooohhh, I _like_ her. When did you start squabbling like an old married couple, though?" Richard's obnoxious voice broke Darcy's silent musings. Although Richard only addressed his question to Elizabeth, both she and Darcy turned to him, both reddening.

"_Married couple_?" Elizabeth bit out, wincing and turning even redder by the second.

"We – we do not _squabble_!" Darcy huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He was glad his hair covered his ruddy ears.

"Yes, you two _do_—"

"What are you three squabbling about over there?" Catherine's sharp voice interrupted Richard's. All three of the party turned to her swiftly, each trying to find a good cover for what they'd actually been disputing.

"Just trying to figure out if right now is a good time to do that shoot you wanted us to do. Lizzie and I are all for it, but Darcy is thinking about not doing them at all." Richard's cheesy smile was almost as slick as his voice. Because they'd supposedly been discussing it before and neither wanted to reveal the true nature of their conversation, both Darcy and Elizabeth held their tongues.

"Ah. That is a perfect thing to discuss. If Charlotte and Mr. Collins have no qualms, I suggest doing it now." Catherine smiled broadly. It seemed to disfigure her face somehow, as if it wasn't a natural expression for her, stretching the skin in ways that made her seem sinister. Darcy couldn't help but think that her smile was the one that was the harbinger misfortune and pain for him.

"I thought you said _maybe_." Darcy hissed to Richard. Though he couldn't turn and look at his cousin's expression, he knew what guileful face the man was making when he whispered back, "_Maybe_ I _lied_." When Charlotte just shrugged and Mr. Collins started spewing words that all amounted to him loving to head the shoot. Catherine sent him to fetch the clothes she wanted Darcy and Richard to model. Darcy made sure to give Richard a good kick to the shins when the cousins had to join their aunt in her little sitting area. Elizabeth had followed them but deigned to sit next to Charlotte while they waited for Collins to get the clothes for the trial shoot Catherine was adamant on having. In the span of ten minutes, they had to listen to Catherine talk, talk, and talk about "the good old days." Darcy blanched when Collins returned with two specifically labeled duffle bags hanging precariously from his shoulders, one on each side.

"Here is yours, Mr. Darcy… and this one is yours, Mr. Fitzwilliam." Collins enthused, hanging each man his bag. Catherine sent Darcy and Richard away before Darcy could try and convince her that the shoot couldn't be done.

"I heard we're doing swimming cossies." Richard added salt to Darcy's wound with a parting remark when he entered his room. Scowling deeply, Darcy sent a fierce kick at the bottom of Richard's closed door before entering his own room and unzipping the duffle bag. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when he saw the brilliant orange speedo blinding him on top of the pile of swimming suits. There was no way in hell he was going to wear that-that _abomination_!

Ten minutes later, Darcy stood next to Elizabeth on the beach, his arms crossed over his chest and a glower on his face. There was a slight breeze whipping them both as they watched Richard debating with Collins and Charlotte about where the best spot was on the immaculate beachfront.

"When was Richard an expert on backgrounds?" Elizabeth inquired after a minute of silence between them.

"I was thinking about asking when he lost his dignity, but I don't think he ever had any in the first place." Darcy said, not thinking Elizabeth wanted an answer to her question; he assumed she was just making small talk with him. He let his eyes follow Richard, who had decided to leave Catherine's main cottage in just a speedo, his being an alarming shade of bright green, and a white wife beater. Darcy shifted his legs slightly, feeling the tight spandex of his own speedo beneath the swim trunks he'd donned, a wave of embarrassment washing over him much more effectively than the ones beating the shoreline.

"To me, he didn't seem the type to have any." Elizabeth snorted. She bit her lip for a second before turning to Darcy, beckoning to dip his ear to her lips with a finger wave.

"Collins picked these outfits – er, _suits_ out, by the way. Told you he was a creep." She confided, warm breath tickling Darcy's jawline. If he thought his eyes had popped out when he saw the speedo, he'd been wrong; the muscles holding his eyes in their sockets strained to keep them in now with the information Elizabeth had given him.

"He—he" Darcy attempted to form a complete thought to convey, but all he could manage was sputtering. Elizabeth laughed at him, taking a picture of his horrified visage.

"Good, good – keep that expression up, Darcy. Maybe Catherine will think this is your 'true essence!'" She sniggered, snapping a few more photographs before Collins hurried over, feathers obviously ruffled.

"Eliza, I'd suggest you desist in wasting film as this is a very important—"

"Look, _Mr_. Collins, this camera has been mine ever since my father gave it to me for Christmas. It is also digital. What I do with my camera is for me to decide, no one else. Clear? Good. Also, this is not an 'important' shoot; it's not even going to be published anywhere but on Catherine's ego. We don't even have all the equipment – just two good-looking men, some clothes, and a beautiful beach. So, what were you saying?" Elizabeth efficiently shut Collins up with her catty remarks. Darcy's eyebrows rose to his hairline as he thanked whatever lucky stars he had that he'd never been on the receiving end of her spite.

Collins reddened in ire before he stomped away, stymied, pretending to look for an ideal spot once more. Charlotte, who was still where Collins had left her and Richard, presented Elizabeth with a mean stare before stroking his ego. Inspired by Elizabeth's truly brilliant performance, a mischievous twinkle entered Darcy's eyes.

"Want to make him even more irritated?" Darcy murmured, giving Elizabeth's ribs a light elbow to make her look up at his lop-sided grin.

"And what do you have in mind, Darcy?" Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. While Darcy just figured she was plotting, she was actually trying to discern his character and his motive behind wanting to piss Collins off even more than she already had; she'd never seen him more forward with her, exempting that one phone call.

"I don't fancy he'd like a wet model." Darcy's half-hearted smile turned into a full-blown, dimple revealing, wicked grin full of wild intentions. He looked Elizabeth up and down quickly, seeing no white on her person or any type of bulge in her pockets to signify an electronic was in them, before peeling off his shirt and stripping her of her expensive-looking camera and glasses.

"What are you doing…?" Elizabeth asked slowly, suspiciously; since Darcy's hands hadn't been anywhere near her chest, she didn't mind him handling her camera or glasses. His shirt plus her camera and glasses were set gently in the sand before Darcy, who paused halfway in rising to his full height, displaying his muscular back to her, grabbed Elizabeth around her middle. He raised her into a fireman lift over his shoulder, much to her surprise; he chuckled when Elizabeth squeaked in shock, arms wrapping around his abdomen.

"What the hell, Darcy?! The ground is so far away! Put me down!" Elizabeth yelped, arms tightening around Darcy as he started moving towards the water. Her cry had alerted Collins, Charlotte, and Richard that something was happening, so the trio that had abandoned them turned around and stared.

"I'm doing something spontaneous, humor me. Now I have to run - thank you for alerting them!" Darcy laughed, charging right into the crashing wake of the ocean before Collins had even bothered endeavoring to scream a threat that wouldn't be heeded; unbeknownst to him, Elizabeth stared at his bum, a flush blooming on her cheeks. Darcy heaved Elizabeth down from his shoulder once he'd reached water that lapped right above the waistband of his trunks; though, he didn't let go of her waist. Only once he saw her eyes widen at the chill of the water did he flop into the salty depths, pulling her with him.

"What in the fudge cakes, Darcy? What if I'd had my cell in my pocket or my iPod or something else!" Elizabeth shrieked when they both surfaced. Darcy denied her an answer, shaking his head like a dog to spray her with more water; he just smiled and winked at her bewildered, slightly vexed, slightly humored countenance. Although he'd liked the way she'd looked in her cut-off jean shorts, black camisole, and light green button-down collar shirt, Darcy enjoyed them on her (or what he could see, anyways, since the water was up to Elizabeth's torso) sopping wet. He didn't feel quite so confounded by her at the moment; all he felt was a certain lightness around him, like he could do anything for her.

"Damn it, now we can't do the shot until he gets dry! And Eliza needs to change!" Collins' roar was perfectly clear to Elizabeth and Darcy even though they were quite a ways away from the little man. As if he was sticking his middle finger up at Collins, Darcy wrapped his arms around Elizabeth once more, lifting her up to his chest again before jumping backwards into an on-coming wave. By the time they surfaced again, Richard had dragged Charlotte into the ocean as well, and Collins was stewing angrily in the tide.

"You are an _evil_ man." Elizabeth pointed at Darcy and laughed, a rosy hue still present on her cheeks; Darcy took that as a good sign, a sign of her feeling the same as he did.

"No need to thank me, Elizabeth. What I did was in the greater good for everyone." Darcy teased, shoving a bit of water her way. She scoffed in mock outrage, sending a stronger wave back at him. By the time Richard and Charlotte had swum over to Elizabeth and Darcy, a full-scale splash war had started, and Charlotte and Richard, _of course,_ had to create a new side to make the war larger. After waiting about ten minutes as his supposed apprentices and models played in the water, Collins left in a huff to go complain to Catherine.

"Bye bye, Colly-Coll!" Richard hollered, waving at Collins' retreating back. While he was distracted taunting their common enemy, Darcy nailed him with a large splash.

"Nice one!" Elizabeth cheered, thrusting her hand over to Darcy for a high-five since he was her partner in the war. Darcy, instead of giving her a high-five, pressed his palm to hers and intertwined their fingers, giving her hand a little shake of victory before letting go. Charlotte blew a raspberry to draw their attention away from each other and reengage them in the splash war.

That afternoon at the beach had been the highlight of Darcy's whole vacation (and, if he was honest with himself, the best time he'd had all year).

- (Crappy Break Line) -

Darcy opened his mouth, about to announce his presence, when Elizabeth took her bag off her shoulder and opened the top flap. The outside held character – _Elizabeth's_ character – thanks to a little help from Sharpies, but the inside made Darcy marvel. The zipper for the big pocket where binders and books would go was broken, and he could see a sliver of piping for a sketchbook within its depths as well as a few book spines a bit further down. He couldn't decipher any titles, but he knew they had to be classics. In the front pockets, where one would normally keep pens and the like, Elizabeth had twigs, stones, batteries, a spare strap for her camera, and charcoal pencils. The small pockets there bulged with things he could only fathom about, but one pocket he was allowed to find out its contents.

Darcy tensed when he saw her, tugging the Velcro apart form one of the pockets and slipping out a well-worn envelope he recognized. Just as she had no idea he was by her side, he had no idea how much pain he'd put Elizabeth through, how much remorse she'd felt… how depressed she'd been.

- (Four Months Earlier) -

Elizabeth stared at the envelope with apprehensive eyes. She hadn't meant to place the envelope where it could incriminate her for breaking her promise, but it sat there on the chest of drawers in her room, right in front of that blasted mirror. With both the real thing and its reflection glaring at her, Elizabeth couldn't help but feel that she'd been two-timed, that the second half of the story was the true version. Even without witnessing the gore within the letter, Elizabeth knew she shouldn't have said what she did to Darcy the previous night, but damn it, he started it! He _always_ started it! Darcy had a curious knack for ruffling her fur, most likely unintentionally, even since she'd overheard his scathing comment to Charles about her.

Elizabeth bit her lip, endeavoring to look away from the envelope, but it was like a star with its own gravitational pull, dragging her eyes from whatever she'd previously been gazing at. Accepting defeat, she got off the plush guest bed she'd been using in one of Catherine's cottages, taking the sealed envelope between her fingers. Again, she was startled by the weight, and her imagination tormented her with beastly ideas of what it contained (perhaps ricin and hateful words).

"Quick, like a Band-Aid. Even though you never ripped Band-Aids off quickly because that would _hurt_." Elizabeth whispered to herself, trying not to dwell on the possibility that Darcy had licked the envelope shut as she slit it open with her finger. She dumped the envelope's contents onto the top of the bed, clamoring back onto it and lying on her stomach. Elizabeth, possibly in a bout of fear, decided to ignore the letter for a minute to marvel at Darcy's handwriting: it was clear, precise, and could be mistaken for a computer font if it hadn't been written on lined paper. Her name on the envelope had been much more stylish, and she was astounded how good the man's handwriting was in both cases. Elizabeth took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever Darcy had to say, before diving into the letter.

She knew she shouldn't have been surprised by how direct and blunt Darcy started his letter off with, but she couldn't help the marginal shock at how clinical he was in "assur[ing]" her that his letter was not "a repetition of [his] feelings from last night that so deeply disgusted" her. Although she wanted to delve right into the Wickham-Darcy dispute, she had to drudge through her anger and displeasure with Darcy over the Jane-Charles debacle first.

Elizabeth could feel herself rolling her eyes at Darcy's description of Charles being a womanizer, but then she thought back to the time she'd spent in Charles' company. He was a bit of a flirt, to be sure, but he had seemed honestly interested in Jane in a completely innocent, boyish fashion. Maybe Charles was an easy guy to string along… If he was anything like Jane, as Elizabeth assumed, then he definitely would fall into the evil clutches of social climbers and/or gold-diggers. But that didn't mean Darcy could judge Jane and deem her "unattached!" Jane just didn't show her feelings off well in company, that was all; Darcy hadn't been the one to listen to Jane prattling on and on and on about Charles this and Charles that.

Elizabeth sighed and pressed her face into the bed, wanting to scream again. No matter how much Darcy didn't have the right to criticize Jane to Charles, Charles didn't _have_ to listen to Darcy. Charles could have blown Darcy off and pursue Jane anyways because Charles was the one with Jane during intimate moments. And if he left so easily to go see "'beach babes,'" he didn't deserve Jane's affections (even if he immediately regretted his decision). Elizabeth stared at the sentence telling her she could do what she wanted with the information about Charles' reason for leaving. She mentally debated with herself for a while before deciding not to tell Jane anything. If Charles motives for leaving were as Darcy said, Jane didn't need more heartbreak, and if Charles didn't make a reappearance in Jane's life (with a lot of begging on his knees to be taken back since he was such a moron), Elizabeth didn't want to make Jane's hopes go up and die once more.

To finish off the Charles-Jane fiasco explanation, Elizabeth decided to let Darcy have a free pass. She knew how her family was, and she said the same exact things about them all the time. Elizabeth didn't _like_ the fact others talked about her family as she did, but coming from Darcy or her Aunt Phyllis, she should treat it all the same: with amusement.

Lifting her face from the bed, Elizabeth continued on with his letter, holding her breath when the truth about George Wickham washed over her, cleansing her mind. She didn't want to believe it at first since it was so… so _alien_ to think of something like that ever happening in real life out of stories (and especially to the sister of someone she knew by a person she'd been on a date with!). George Wickham had seemed so nice, though… He had had his cheesy moments, but Elizabeth figured all men did. She felt the irrational desire to go take an extremely hot shower and rub her skin raw where he'd touched her.

Elizabeth held back her gags, shoving Darcy's letter away in disgust. With her vivid imagination, she was able to conjure a tall, young girl with dark curls like Darcy's being fooled by Wickham's charismatic smile. If Wickham had been thirty then, he had been thirty-two or thirty-three when he'd been courting her… Elizabeth shuddered. It was slightly creepy he had the face of a twenty-one-year old sweetheart but was actually much older than that. She started when she recalled Wickham's folder saying he was only twenty-five years old. That lying scumbag! If she knew where he went, she could get him for lying on official documents. It wouldn't get Wickham much of a headache, but it would at least be _something_.

Elizabeth's head spun when she remembered his own mother helped him in his nefarious deeds. What a duo! It was disgusting and disturbing. Poor Georgiana… poor Darcy… poor Mr. Younge, too, even if he'd had an affair with Wickham's mother while she'd still been married. Not knowing how else to express her emotions for such a secret affair, Elizabeth ransacked her bags to find a pen and write in the margins of Darcy's letter.

By the time she was done making comments and re-reading Darcy's letter for the nth time, Elizabeth was emotionally spent. She didn't even leave her room that day, feigning sickness while two big, stupid idiots consumed her thoughts. Elizabeth didn't like being wrong, especially with Darcy, but she was _so_ in the wrong it wasn't even funny.

- (Crappy Break Line) -

Darcy took s deep breath before he spoke.

"Although the statement is a bit redundant, I am a big, stupid idiot." He commented, but his voice sounded a bit snarky for his tastes. He smiled gently when Elizabeth jumped, looking up at him with wide eyes behind her specs.

"I—I—how long have you been there?"

Darcy couldn't help him smile from widening, his dimples coming out, at her embarrassment; Elizabeth really was just too cute. She was even trying to hide his letter, as if he hadn't seen it before!

"Not long, I promise. How… how are things, Elizabeth? May I sit with you?" He pointed at the grass, hoping to get closer to Elizabeth. Darcy knew he was selfish, but his raging craving for Elizabeth was rapidly multiplying with her right in front of him.

"Oh, um, its your property and all… um, Jane's well. She texted me earlier that Charlie came back on his knees begging for her forgiveness." She shrugged at him, eyes one the pond instead of him. Darcy wondered if it was because she still detested him. He sat down, purposefully brushing his knee against her. His chest was aching with all of his pent-up desire, and the action was almost involuntary. Darcy had thought he couldn't love Elizabeth more than he had at Catherine's cottages, but after four long months of believing she hated him, he would confirm the theory that absence made the heart grow fonder. Roaming around the Pemberley grounds made him want to share them with her, and he'd longer for her presence like never before. Even their weird tango when he'd been trying to ignore then woo her while she just disliked him was better than that!

"Yes… I told him it was wrong of me to convince him to leave Jane and that, well, she might not be as unattached as I'd believed her to be. He was on the next flight back." Darcy's smile tightened awkwardly. Had he been too presumptuous and arrogant to send Charles back to Jane? Had he meddled too much again? Although, Charles had informed him that Jane had been reciprocated after some much-needed begging…

"Thank you, for that. Jane is… very happy."

Darcy coked his head to the side at her curious choice of words. She thanked him, and yet… he had the feeling something was troubling Elizabeth. Perhaps it wasn't Jane, but he knew something was making the tension between them stronger.

"And how are you? Are you happy, Elizabeth?" Darcy inquired, deciding to be bold and cut to the chase. He hoped she'd confide in him what was bothering her, even if she shouted at him that she loathed him again.

"I'm… honestly not. I want to apologize to you for my scathing words… I mean, you deserved it and all, but… I should have given you more credit than I did with that ass hat. So, I'm sorry. And I accept your apology – apolog_ies_, from the letter, I mean."

Darcy's eyes narrowed at her words. Elizabeth still wouldn't look him in the eye, and she was being so hesitant and shy. He didn't like this, not one bit; Darcy enjoyed it when she was timid like during that midnight phone call, not like this. There was a difference to him. Swallowing his words of assuring Elizabeth she had nothing to apologize for, because he could see the importance of getting her apology off her chest written all over his face, Darcy just replied, "Apology accepted." Silence befell them again, although it wasn't loaded as it had been before. Or, well, it was a different tension now, and Darcy was pretty sure he liked it.

"I-I'm here with my aunt and uncle… I'm not here to… I can delete that picture, if you want."

Darcy wanted to laugh at how absurdly adorable Elizabeth was; he smiled once more, shaking his head. She believed he thought she was here to get back at him or something! Silly girl. Darcy raised his hand, hesitating midway in fear of being too forward, but he shoved those feelings aside with his slight annoyance that Elizabeth had yet to look him in the eye. He gently took her chin between his fingers, lifting her head so he could see her fine eyes.

"You can keep the picture if you look at me, Elizabeth. You don't have to be so shy." Darcy teased before he realized Elizabeth's eyes had drifted southward to his lips. Just as closely as he was watching Elizabeth, she was watching him. Elizabeth could clearly imagine the firmness of his lips and wonder if they'd be soft. She could feel herself leaning slowly, curiously toward him, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt something vibrating on her leg. Realizing it was her phone, Elizabeth's heart stopped racing alarmingly fast as she picked it up.

"Sorry, it's my aunt… Aunt Maida?"

Darcy was disappointed when Elizabeth turned her back to him. Heck, he was (extremely) disappointed her phone had even rang since it looked like Elizabeth was about to… _No_! He wasn't going to fool himself again. No matter how obvious he thought it was she was going to kiss him, he would _not_ assume anything until he got the truth straight from Elizabeth's lips.

"Um, sorry I left, I, er… I'm just outside the door underneath the trees. I—_what_. You're _where_?"

Darcy started when Elizabeth turned around suddenly, her little hand on his knee before he knew it. His heart hammered a song against his ribs as he looked at her hand for a second before following her gaze across the pond. There was a man and a woman waving madly beneath his gazebo; Darcy figured that they had to be Elizabeth's aunt and uncle. He cursed them mentally, frowning.

"Um, yeah, I see you, Aunt Maida… I'm with Darcy…. Yeah, as in the owner of this, erm, estate… We were _not_! Shut up! I'm hanging up on you!"

Darcy reconsidered his curse when Elizabeth flushed endearingly.

"What was that about?" He questioned, feeling the air lightening around them. Not only had Elizabeth's aunt made Elizabeth blush, but her phone call had broken the ice between them quite wonderfully. Darcy decided then and there to ask Maida and her husband, as well as Elizabeth, to stay for dinner in thanks.

"She, um, thought we were… yeah. And… we weren't."

Darcy smiled as Elizabeth's blush deepened and she looked at her lap. He wondered if she realized her hand, which had turned into a fist, was still on his knee. He mentally prepared himself for a second rejection and threw caution into the wind as he asked softly, "What if we were?" Darcy felt Elizabeth move sharply; since she hadn't moved away, he took it as encouragement. Closing his eyes, he took her fist into his hands, prying open her warm fingers to hold her hand and rub his thumb across her knuckles.

"Elizabeth, I still feel the way I did four months ago, though perhaps more ardently… if… if your feelings have changed, I… I'd like to ask you out. Properly, without al the bullocks attached." The though of, "_She's going to reject me_," was a mantra chanted in Darcy's head as he spoke, and only when he could silence them at the end of his confession did he open his eyes and look up at Elizabeth. Darcy gave her a half-smile, hoping beyond hope that his pessimistic worries weren't true. His heart was beating even faster than before.

"I'd like that, very much."

It took Darcy longer than it should have to realize he hadn't been rejected. When he finally understood she reciprocated his feelings, a wide grin split his lips, and he couldn't help himself from pressing a kiss to her tentative smile. Darcy was going to cherish this moment for a long time, perhaps even forever.

**A/N**: _-still hiding form F.I. readers- Sup guys? Honestly, I hadn't planned on making a Darcy version. Then, one night, I was attacked by rabid plot bunnies demanding me to write this, and so here we are. I'm sorry I keep bugging you with fake "new chapters" – I found spelling mistakes in the Elizabeth half and corrected them. But I hope you guys liked this Darcy half! Haha, speedos… Any who, I hoped you guys weren't put off by how much I repeated in that last segment. I wanted to not include it, but then this half couldn't just end with Elizabeth reading the letter… I also didn't re-include the letter since I figured that it would be a waste to do so (that is my subtle hint asking if you guys think it was a good or a bad decision). Thank you to all the reviewers, favoriters, and watchers from Elizabeth's half and thank you guys for reading this whole little two-shot! :D_

_~ Tobi_


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